


Vice and Wish

by thatsakitkat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst and Porn, Belly Kink, Bottom Dean, Children, Discussion of Infant Death, Dubious Consent, Forced Pregnancy, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Manipulation, Mpreg, Omega Dean, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Dean, Pregnant Sex, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsakitkat/pseuds/thatsakitkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam really wants Dean to have his baby. Dean doesn't feel the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

  
Sam tries not to show how disappointed he is. He smiles gently and mutters, "okay," and kisses Dean's forehead. Dean can't see his hand form a fist under the blankets. Dean can't see the anger and frustration that pools in Sam's gut and branches out into his veins, can't see him clench his teeth, can't see the dark thoughts that start racing through Sam's mind.  
  
Dean told him _no_. Not a maybe, or a shrug, or a smartass joke. Just a blunt no and a head shake, little furrow in his brow, then a scoff like Sam must be joking or crazy. Of course, he snorted the same way when Sam kissed him for the first time, and now look where they are.  
  
But Sam doesn't think he can be persuaded the way he was before. No, this is... different. Something that makes Dean's face tighten, lips fold in a little, harsh in the same way his _no_ is.  
  
A few minutes of silence go by, of Sam's clenched fist and his clenched teeth and Dean's twisted lips, before Dean changes the subject. It's trivial, like pillow talk is, and Sam makes acknowledging noises where appropriate, while Dean laughs at his own jokes and taps his foot against Sam's calf under the sheets.  
  
Sam wants to ask why, he does. The word's on his tongue, his lips, his vocal chords. It's in his mind, in his vision when he looks at the profile of Dean's face and wonders if the baby would have Dean's nose or his.  
  
It keeps him up long after Dean's pressed against him and asleep, and Sam's staring at the cheap hotel ceiling sightlessly, unbelievably betrayed and denied.  
  
It's the logical next step. Him and Dean are Alpha and Omega, mates for life, and Dean's 30 and should've had his first baby years ago.  
  
They've been Mated four years now, and every website and real life couple has told him that Omegas usually get pregnant within the first year of a Mateship. The more Sam reads, the more he hears, the more abnormal he feels, the more antsy he gets.  
  
But Dean, Dean takes his birth control as religiously as he did at 16, doesn't let Sam knot him, doesn't let his dick in him without a condom. It's nearly unbearable, it's not right, it's against both their natures, and Sam doesn't understand _why_.  
  
He lets out a harsh breath and looks away from the ceiling to Dean wrapped around him like an octopus, traces his fat lower lip. He loves Dean more than anything, he'd love to have a child with him, he _needs_ it. He wouldn't even be satisfied with one, he thinks. He wants a big family, wants to buy a big house and fill it with their kids and their laughter.  
  
Three at least. Three would be fine but, God, six sounds even better. Six makes his cock stiffen against Dean's thigh. Three boys and three girls. Sam bites his lip at the thought, insides shuddering. His thumb pushes past Dean's lax lips and brushes over the hard surface of his teeth while his dark thoughts form and fester.

\----------------------------

As much as he wants and needs, Sam doesn't put anything into motion right away, mostly because the next day they end up taking on a hunt that lasts a week. But Sam lets more weeks past after that, fucks Dean with the stupid rubbers, resists knotting him, watches Dean toss back his pills.  
  
He passively lets his desire for children be known, however.  
  
He starts watching marathons of _An Omega Baby Story_ (which Dean groans at and tries to wrestle the remote away), "forgets" to log out on his laptop and leaves websites like _megabump.com_ and _omegababycenter.com_ bright on the screen for Dean to see, casually tells Dean how he read somewhere latex is carcinogenic, knotting has been proven to lower blood pressure, and did you know, Dean, that prolonged use of Clinixa can cause ulcers?  
  
He doesn't know if Dean realizes what he's doing, but either way Dean says nothing about it, carries on with their knot-less sex and the condoms and buys more birth control when his packet's empty.  
  
But that's okay, Sam wasn't expecting him to crack. He might, if Sam ups the guilt tripping, but that'll take too long. His older brother, for whatever reason, has really dug his heels in on this one, and the Winchester stubbornness is just as strong in him as it is in Sam.  
  
So Sam researches. His google searches go from "my omega doesn't want kids," to "how to swap out birth control," in less than a week. He feels guilty, and overwhelmed, but with all the resulting info he finds, he's not the only Alpha to ever consider it. That makes him feel a lot better.  
  
He even signs up for a forum and reads personal stories from other Alphas, nodding to himself. A lot of the memoirs aren't finished, but the ones that are end happy, with the Omega never finding out. They end with the Omega being happy with their baby, none the wiser, the mateship stronger than ever.  
  
Sometimes, the story even ends with the Omega wanting more kids, and Sam's stomach flips over in vicarious giddiness at that.  
  
The laptop's hot on his thighs when he's read his fill of personal stories, and he maneuvers around on Bobby's couch to set it in the space next to him.  
  
He eyes the door. Bobby and Dean are both out at some bar that Sam had declined going to on the basis that he wasn't feeling well. They probably won't be back 'til late, so Sam clicks back on the forum, and navigates to the "Help" section, and sucks his teeth for a few moments before clicking on the _start new topic_ button and just starts writing.  
  
It's dumb of course. Stupid. But he needs opinions, and it's not like he has friends to call up.  
  
He ends up oversharing, typing too much, and he's about to go back and delete some paragraphs when the roar of the Impala alerts him that Dean and Bobby are back. He sighs and just clicks _post_ , then quickly clears his history, logs out and closes the laptop.  
  
Sam hopes he's not red when Dean walks in. Irrationally he thinks Dean will take one look at him and know, like his betrayal is written all over his face, that maybe somehow Dean can read his thoughts and he'll find all the damning ones that make Sam's face hot and his cock hard.  
  
But Dean stumbles in, oblivious as he is to most things lately. And obviously very drunk.  
  
"Where's Bobby?" Sam asks as Dean shuts the door.  
  
Dean smiles at him salaciously, making a crude hand gesture. Sam grimaces.  
  
"Least I finally got that bastard outta the house," Dean slurs, tossing his keys on the end table. Sam watches him shrug out of his leather jacket and meander his way into the kitchen.  
  
"You shouldn't drive drunk, Dean."  
  
Sam hears the fridge open, and Dean comes back into the living room, unbelievably with another beer between his fingers.  
  
"Yeah, well you shouldn't drive _ever_ ," is Dean's intelligent comeback. He makes his way over to the couch, and Sam stands and just manages to save him from tripping over the coffee table.  
  
"Jeez, Dean."  
  
"'M 'kay—god, get off me." Dean worms out from Sam's hands and all but collapses on the couch, putting the bottle to his lips, just looking at Sam while he takes a long pull.  
  
He swallows and rolls his eyes. "Forgot to get you one."  
  
"I'll get it myself," Sam says. He goes into the kitchen sees that Dean left the fridge open. God, the man is really drunk, and it takes a lot to get him there. Sam's amazed he managed to start the car, let alone drive it back to Bobby's.  
  
He gets his own beer and sits next to his brother.  
  
A few minutes pass in silence, just the sounds of clicking swallows and smacking lips.  
  
Dean nudges a foot at the coffee table. "Well, turn on the TV," he says, "I'm sure _'mega Baby Story_ is on." He rolls his eyes and then gestures with wiggling fingers. "Woohoo, I'm an Omega, all I do is pop out babies. Woo."  
  
Sam just stares at him. Dean's hands slap back down on his thighs, bottle still clasped in one hand so alcohol slops over the rim.  
  
Scowling, Dean kicks the table. "Fuckin' crap."  
  
Dean slouches further, eyebrows pinched together.  
  
"What's wrong?" Sam asks.  
  
"Nothing," Dean growls.  
  
Sam snorts and sets his beer on the table, then rubs his brow. "Look Dean, I'm gonna go to bed. Don't stay up too late."  
  
"Do what you want," Dean mutters dismissively, sets the bottle to his lips again.  
  
Sam takes his laptop and leaves him there on the couch.

\----------------------------

  
A rugaru takes them to south Arkansas and a seedy hotel, and while Dean's lost in post-sex slumber beside him, Sam sits up and leans over the side of the bed to open his duffel and pull out his laptop. Angling so if Dean were to open his eyes he couldn't see the screen, Sam logs onto syndicatedA.com and navigates to the forum, to the thread he started a week ago.  
  
He's gotten an overwhelming amount of replies, still getting them, ranging from short to long, crude to thoughtful, well thought-out to blunt words telling him to just find another Omega. Sam's replied to some, made it clear that no, that's not an option.  
  
He clicks on the second page to read the new replies.  
  
  
______________________________________________________________

**touchdog                                                      Posted: June 6, 2008 at 10:08 am  
Member is offline  
Posts: 421**  
  
put him in his place man.. 4 years is way tooooo long to wait, I don't know why you put up with his shit. you must be insane. There's some megas who think they's too good, never wanna settle down and just wanna keep on partying, and u got yourself one. I say drop his ass or start teaching him to respect you.. I know you don't want to hurt him but sometimes that's what you need to do. Then you won't have to go behind his back. believe me you can convince him with some punishment.. You do it right he'll be begging for your knot and kids.  
  
______________________________________________________________

**studMIke4                                                     Posted: June 6, 2008 at 3:05 pm  
Member is online  
Posts: 43**  
  
what bc does he use my bitch used lencisO and believe it or not I just switched them to baby aspirin and it worked he never found out. um but if yours gets those depo shots every month idk about that. if he uses just the pills then yeah you can definitely switch them with something........ It's weird he makes you use condoms too, and no knotting??!? lol are u sure he's an omega dude?? ;) wow. I do not envy you man.......  
______________________________________________________________

**sendjEN18                                                     Posted: June 6, 2008 at 9:10 pm  
Member is online  
Posts: 69**

Get him some help, he has issues. Has he been in other mateships before you? He might not like knotting because he's had a bad experience before, or miscarried. It might not be anything against you. And God don't listen to everyone else telling you to mess with his pills, if he does get pregnant that could just fuck him up more. Reading this shit makes me sick, I'm surprised most of you even have mates....

______________________________________________________________  
  
 **RunMonkey                                                  Posted: June 6, 2008 at 11:55 pm  
Member is offline  
Posts: 2**

FUCK CONDOMS                                                             

______________________________________________________________

**knitknot                                                        Posted: June 7, 2008 at 1:00 am  
Member is offline  
Posts: 547                                                                      **

Ok man you obvsly really want kids so u need to  
1) chnge pills  
2) poke some holess in those rubbers  
3) fuck hehe  
4) knot the bitch (HE WANTS IT)  
5) repeat till hes knocked up  
6) ????  
7) profit!!!!  
Ur going through a lot of shit for him he must be hot, you wanna send me pics i would not say no. gl dude.  
(SHUT THE FUCK UP SENDJEN!!)  
______________________________________________________________  
  
  
Sam shakes his head in amusement. He should probably be feeling at least a little disgusted by the suggestions, but touchdog's post is the only one that makes him scowl. He's definitely not going to start beating on Dean, who would just kick his ass anyway. Sendjen makes hypothetical sense, but Sam knows he's Dean's first Alpha, and he's pretty damn sure Dean's never gotten pregnant.  
  
He reads over the posts telling him to change Dean's pills, poke holes in the condoms, chewing on his lip. It sounds so easy, so simple. God, all he'd have to do is find some Clinixa look-alikes, get a pin and wait till Dean's out of the hotel. Dean could be pregnant before July.  
  
Jesus, is he willing to do that? Can he turn his back so quickly on what's good and right just for his own selfishness?  
  
Sam clears his history and logs out, shuts the laptop and looks down at Dean. The older man's slumbering on his side, and the sheet has slid down around his hips. Sam finds his eyes riveted to Dean's stomach, imagining it swollen with his baby, imagines running his hands over the stretched skin, imagines little kids running around with Dean's green eyes and his own dark hair.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Dean shifts, not opening his eyes. He feels around until his hands touch Sam's bare torso. "Sleep, Sam," Dean croaks, voice mangled by sleep.  
  
"Yeah," Sam agrees after a moment, looking away. He puts the laptop back in the duffel and gets under the blankets again, pulling them back over Dean while he does so.  
  
Dean hums in sleepy pleasure and Sam kisses him softly, pulls him till Dean's head is tucked under his chin and his deep breaths are brushing against Sam's chest.  
  
Sam smoothes his hand down Dean's flank to the spur of his hip and back up again.  
  
And Sam thinks _yeah. Definitely_.

\----------------------------

  
"Anything in the papers?" Dean asks him, for what must be the tenth time today. Dean's sprawled on the bed, his lower leg hanging off and kicking irritably.  
  
"The answer's still no," Sam says, drinking coffee at the small hotel table, newspaper set aside. "Not even a missing person."  
  
"'S fuckin' boring. So fucking hungry," Dean laments.  
  
Sam licks his lips after a sip of coffee, looks away from his brother. "Why don't you go get us something to eat then?"  
  
This is it. Sam's been looking for an excuse to get Dean out of the room the past few days, and now the opportunity has presented itself. Sam feels the first thrills of anticipation alight goosebumps along his arms.  
  
"Yeah," Dean grumbles, sitting up. He rubs his eyes and yawns. "What do you want?"  
  
"Just get," Sam starts, _fast food_ automatically on his lips. But no, he needs Dean gone longer just in case, so he continues, "that place we passed yesterday looked good, uh, _Mally's_? Just get me something to go."  
  
"All right." Dean stands and stretches—damn obscenely—and grabs the keys on the end table. "I'm gonna pick up some new bandages too while I'm at it. Only so long a man can substitute with TP."  
  
Sam hides his grin behind a sip of coffee. "Okay." He probably doesn't need all that time, but it'll be nice not to frantically rush. "Drive safe."  
  
Dean scoffs at him, crossing the room and swooping down for a kiss that ends up lasting too long. When Dean leans up again, there's the beginning of a pink stain across his cheeks. He licks the coffee taste from his lips and smirks. "Hungry and horny now, great."  
  
Sam inhales as he watches him. Good god Sam doesn't know when Dean _won't_ be overwhelming. "We can take care of that when you get back."  
  
"Sometimes I don't know who the tease is: me or you." Dean sighs long-sufferingly. "All right, I'm going. Don't run off no where."  
  
"Like I would."  
  
Dean hums, and with a final sinful liplick, he's out the door. Sam sighs loudly and leans back in his chair to stretch himself. As a final superfluous precaution, he gets up and puts the chain lock in place on the door. He listens to the Impala roar to life, then the guttural purr as Dean pulls out of the parking lot.  
  
When Sam can't hear the car anymore, he pulls his duffel out from under the bed and shakily unzips it, trembling with nerves. He can't believe he's really doing this.  
  
"Fuck," he mutters to himself, digging under his clothes to wrap his fingers around a foil packet. Fucking risky, hiding it in here, but as far as he knows Dean doesn't get in his stuff unless he needs to borrow clothes, and Sam's made sure they've kept up on their laundry.  
  
He feels another little thrill of pulling something over on Dean. God, Dean doesn't, and won't, have any idea. There's no guilt, just glee. He's finally going to get what he wants, what he's been waiting four damn years for.  
  
It's heady, and Sam has to pause for a minute to get his thoughts in order. "Okay. Okay." He picks up the packet and turns it over in his fingers. It's just some kind of nausea medication, and the packet and pills are blissfully without any conspicious labels.  
  
It does look almost exactly like Dean's packet of Clinixa. Omega birth control is different than the kind for Beta females, doesn't include a week of placebo pills and has to be taken like clockwork to be effective because of how fertile Omegas are.

Sam's had to wait 'till Dean picked up a new packet to put his plan in motion. It's been a few days since then and Dean's took some, but Sam can just pop out a few of the fakes and Dean will be none the wiser.  
  
Heart palpitating, Sam reaches further under the bed and gets his hand around the strap of Dean's bag, and he hauls it out. He unzips it with surer fingers, but hesitates on just sticking his hand in and rummaging around.  
  
He needs to make sure Dean doesn't think he got into his stuff; he has to be careful.  
  
Nodding, Sam slowly starts rooting around for Dean's pills. Tentatively, sure to not move Dean's knives and shotgun around, he burrows his hand under Dean's clothes and feels around. His fingers at first only encounter the buttery leather of one of Dean's jackets, and for a dreadful moment he thinks _it's not here, it's not here_ , but then something crackles against his nails, and he victoriously pulls out the foil.  
  
He compares the two packets, and jesus, the only real difference is that there's three missing from Dean's. He can't believe the similarity himself. He had told the people on SyndicatedA that Dean took Clinixa, and gotten twenty responses of pills he could swap that out with. Apparently it was one of the easiest brands to find a look-alike of.  
  
Sam pops three anti-nausea pills out, sets them on the end table along with the rest of the birth control, and slips the fake packet back under Dean's clothes. He zips the bag up, unknowingly smiling. God, but that was easy.  
  
There's 32 fake pills left, and that gives him a damn _month_ to get Dean pregnant. It's a good amount of time. Sam's gonna fuck him as much as possible; morning, afternoon, and night with quickies between.  
  
Sam shivers internally, dick pressing against his zipper. He slides both their duffels back, then stands up. A quick look at his watch tells him it's only been ten minutes.  
  
He picks up the Clinixa. He knows exactly how he's going to get rid of it.  
  
There's a grate in the kitchenette, mostly hidden by the table. Sam moves the table out of the way, and it takes some effort to pry off the grate, but it really takes no time at all. Sam pushes the packet and the three pills into the dark space, then replaces the cover.  
  
He moves the table back into place.  
  
And that's it. Pills swapped, evidence taken care of. He's a third of the way there.  
  
The box of condoms Dean makes him use are on the end table, left there from the past week they've spent in this hotel. It takes him a few minutes to find a pin,  but eventually he's sitting on the bed, poking holes through the condom wrapper. He's gonna have to be extra careful with this, gonna have to make sure it's him that reaches for the condoms, make sure Dean doesn't look too closely, doesn't see the tiny pinholes in the foil and in the latex.

There's twenty left in the box. When they run out, Sam will buy more, and hopefully get enough time to make sure those don't work either.  
  
Sam doesn't bother pricking the last one; Dean's already taken his pill for the day, and getting his come in him would be a waste. He'll use the unaltered condom today, but tomorrow he's going to finally, finally, be able to paint Dean's insides with his come.  
  
The thought causes a sweat to break out between his shoulder blades. Shit, he can hardly wait. For any of it.  
  
Sam makes sure there's absolutely no evidence or anything out of place, unchains the door and then lays back on the bed, quickly falling into a daydream, fantasies of Dean and their children. The thoughts alone could keep him occupied for hours, days, and pretty soon it's gonna be his actual, living breathing reality.  
  
Dean comes back twenty minutes later, package of gauze between his teeth and a styrofoam tray in his hands.  
  
Dean barely manages to elbow the door shut before Sam's there, plucking the plastic out of his mouth and the food out of his hands, sets them on the table and then rushes back, pushing his mate hard against the wall with his kiss.  
  
Dean makes a surprised, eager noise, surging back into him. His hands flit along Sam's shoulders before he reaches up and fists them in his hair, pulls his head down.  
  
Sam leaves Dean's lips to nip under his chin, scrape his teeth and suck down Dean's neck.  
  
"Don't you—ah—don't you wanna eat first?"  
  
Sam laughs, finding Dean's lips again and biting playfully at their softness. "I _am_ eating."  
  
"Ha ha."  
  
Imbued with the desperate urge to get their clothes off and get inside his mate, Sam manhandles Dean over to the bed and straddles him. Dean has his bottom lip between his teeth as he fumbles the button out of Sam's jeans and pulls the zipper down, as Sam pushes off Dean's button down and rucks up his shirt.  
  
"God," Dean husks, thrusting his hips up. "Where do we sign up to be nudists?"  
  
Sam gets off him a moment to pull his own jeans and boxer briefs down, and Dean does the same. When they come back together, Sam dives into his rightful place between Dean's legs; their familiar bow naturally accommodating him. Sam drags his hips along Dean's, rutting their bare cocks together with a groan from both of them.  
  
Sam's biting along Dean's collarbones when the other man squeezes his biceps. "H-hurry up," Dean damn near whimpers, hitching up his legs to cross his ankles against the small of Sam's back.  
  
Sam presses a soothing kiss to his lips. "Okay," he says quietly. He worms a hand between them to feel down. "Are you—"  
  
"Fucking dripping! Get inside me!" Dean growls.  
  
Sam teasingly presses his middle finger inside Dean's wet hole, and Dean bucks beneath him, nearly throwing him off. "Sam!"  
  
Dean's eager for it today. Sam wishes he hadn't taken that damn pill yet; he'd love to get his seed in Dean with the man so worked up. But Sam's waited four years, he can wait another 24 hours.  
  
He extends his free arm to reach into the box of condoms, gets his fingers around the only non-poked one. He tears off the foil with his teeth, then leans up and back, settling on his haunches.  
  
From the angle, he can see Dean's pink rim stretched around three of his fingers now, slick shining off his hand from where it's dripped and glistening where it's been spread all over Dean's inner thighs. Dean pants as Sam pulls the fingers in and out, hands fisting in the sheets and covers, chest heaving.  
  
"God," Sam chokes out, finding himself unable to look away.  
  
"Fuckin'—Sam, come _on_."  
  
Sam inhales a big breath, Dean's Omega pheromones tangy on his tongue. With reluctance, he slips his fingers out of Dean's hole. He waits 'til Dean's opened his eyes, then sucks the wet digits into his mouth, Dean's taste exploding on his tastebuds.  
  
Dean groans softly at the sight, licking his own lips. "You're tryin' to kill me," he rasps.  
  
"Good way to go," Sam says when he's licked all Dean's slick from his fingers.  
  
Dean wraps a hand around his cock, and his eyes slip shut again. He spreads his legs further and thrusts up invitingly. "Mm, less talkin' more sexin'."  
  
Sam rolls the condom onto his dick, grumbling in displeasure as the banded portion that'll hold his knot snaps around the base of his cock. He hates these fucking things. Not only on an instinctive primal level, as something that keeps him from filling his mate with his babies, but because he genuinely hates the niggling sensation of something around his cock that isn't warmwettight.  
  
Another reason Sam can't wait till Dean's pregnant. For six months he'll be able to enjoy his brother's ass the way it's meant to be enjoyed, no barriers, nothing between them.  
  
Sam shifts forward, blanketing Dean once more and pulling his thighs up until they lock around Sam's waist.  
  
The sound Dean makes when Sam thrusts home, fills him up is one he'll never get tired of. It's a tiny breath, a whisper of "Sammy," and his eyebrows push together and his mouth goes lax like he's shocked. His hands flutter around like he doesn't know what to do with them before his arms wrap around Sam's shoulders, one hand dug into the back of his head and the other pushing blunt nails into Sam's back.  
  
Sam buries his head in the mattress by Dean's ear, and leisurely pulls, drags out, Dean's hips raising to follow his but Sam pushes back into him before they can come up too far.  
  
"Christ," Dean says, voice reverberating where his chest is pressed to Sam's.  
  
Sam loves this part. Just the first few deep, languid thrusts, taking his time, not feeling the need to go fast yet. He won't be able to hold himself back tomorrow, not while knowing he's knocking Dean up, so for now he goes slow but firm, pulling back and pushing forward, like he's the wave and Dean's just the shore he breaks over.  
  
He only picks up the pace when Dean's legs shift restlessly against his sides, but not too much, still keeping up the deep rolling thrusts from before—pulling till just the head of his cock is still surrounded by hot and tight, then pushing all the way in, feeding Dean all the inches of his dick.

Dean grips him tight with his arms and legs, constrictor-tight just like his ass, breath punched out with every thrust home.  
  
Sam moves his head off the mattress and kisses Dean, thoughts swirling. He was gonna ask tomorrow, but Dean's so desperate today, more likely to say yes. If Sam can ease him into it, show him how good it can be, the third part of his plan could be finished today.  
  
Sam runs his tongue along the ridges of Dean's teeth then sucks Dean's lush bottom lip. God, he hopes their kids have Dean's lips. They're all kinds of pretty pink perfect.  
  
Sam starts feeling the tell-tale sweet warmth pooling low in his stomach, and thrusts a little harder, tries to get a little deeper. He sucks kisses along Dean's cheek, stubble abrading his lips, till he gets to Dean's ear. He bites the lobe, tongues over the whorls. "Dean..."  
  
"Sam," Dean groans back. The way he's tensed up, he's about to come. His legs fall down, calves pressing into the backs of Sam's thighs, heels urging him deeper. His nails press slivers of pain along Sam's shoulder blades.  
  
"Let me knot," Sam whispers into Dean's ear, worming his arms under him to gather him close. "C'mon Dean—ah, fuck—it'll be so good. C'mon baby, I could stay in you for a whole 'nother hour, fill you up like nothin' else..."  
  
Dean tenses up further, but doesn't answer except for a withering moan. Sam slows down punishingly, bites under Dean's ear. "Fuck Dean, _please_. There ain't nothin' like an Alpha's knot. Let me show you. Please. Wanna tie us. Wanna get stuck to you. Fucking please— _please_ , let me, want it so bad."

Sam gets his hands under him and lifts off Dean a little to look down at his face, shiny with sweat and pleasure suffused. He can feel the tightening at the base of his dick; his knot's gonna pop any second, and Sam's honestly not above begging at this point, he doesn't think he'll be able to stand not plunging the swell in Dean, not this time—  
  
Dean makes a choking noise, hands coming up to grip Sam's biceps, and nods.  
  
Sam makes a harsh noise of his own. "Yes?" He asks urgently, staring wide-eyed down at his brother.  
  
"Yeah, _yes_ , God!" Dean arches his lower body up desperately, the lock to Sam's key.  
  
And something absolutely primal surges through Sam, something unleashed, unfettered, something breaks through the dam and rushes out. Sam snarls, locks his elbows, and heaves forward. The headboard knocks back against the wall, cracks splintering in the cheap material, and Dean goes rock-tense and still as Sam ruts his knot into him, eyes flaring open and looking up sightlessly.  
  
It's like nothing else. Sam's skin feels like the laces have been pulled too tight, he feels like he's going crazy. His eyes roll up in his head and his hands clench futilely in the sheets before he lets himself collapse so he can scrape his nails savagely down Dean's flanks, so he can bite into Dean's shoulder, can muffle his roars and helpless _too much too much too much NOT ENOUGH_ sounds as his knot swells and swells.  
  
He presses Dean hard into the mattress, grinding in jerky motions to get in as deeply as possible, knees writhing against the sheets in search of more purchase. He feels like he can't deep enough, god he just wants to crawl inside Dean and make a home and never fucking leave. He unlatches his teeth from Dean's shoulder and hoarsely sobs against it, hands squeezing either side of Dean's hips, thumbs digging in so deep he can feel the ridge of bone dig back.  
  
He rolls them over, then rolls them over again, and they roll right off the side of the bed.  
  
Sam's back slaps against the floor, and that makes his eyes open just in time to see Dean's face held in the helpless expression of orgasm, to see his dick jump and spurt white all over his own stomach and Sam's, impaled on Sam's dick, his knot, stuck, caught, _tied_ , and Sam thrusts up and comes with a choked, soundless cry.  
  
Sam feels like he's melted right through the floor, and now he's just a bodiless pile of pleasure and right, of warmth and satisfaction, of somnolence and ache.  
  
He closes his eyes, and it's a long time before either of them move.


	2. Part II

"So what's it feel like?" Sam asks Dean that night, chin hooked on Dean's shoulder, sitting behind him and massaging the kinks out of his back, their legs stretched out with Sam's bracketing Dean's.  
  
Dean rolls his neck. "Mm, what?"  
  
Sam snorts, thumbs pressing into either side of Dean's spine and rubbing counter-clockwise. "You know."  
  
"You mean getting your softball-sized knot up my ass?"  
  
Sam makes a noncommittal sound, hands dragging up Dean's back, press of his fingers eliciting pops and cricks. Dean's skin is warm, sultry, beneath his hands, and when he breathes in his ribs expand against Sam's palm. Sam kisses his freckled shoulder softly, exhales hot breath against the cinnamon flecks. "Tell me."  
  
Dean leans against him, head dropping back on his shoulder. Sam wraps him close and settles his hands against the firm flat of Dean's stomach.  
  
"Full," Dean says after a few moments. His hand falls to Sam's thigh and his fingers twist and pinch at the fabric of Sam's sweatpants. "Like I could feel you all the way up to the back of my throat. And it was just you, everywhere."  
  
"So you liked it?"  
  
Dean scoffs. "I came didn't I?"  
  
Sam strokes Dean's stomach slowly. He has to be careful here. "So could it—I don't know, could it become an everytime thing?"  
  
"Give you an inch..." Dean starts. He makes a frustrated noise and pushes his shoulder blades hard into Sam's chest.  
  
"I don't get you Dean," Sam says without any heat, just lets the disappointment wash into his voice. He wishes Dean was facing him so he could crank up the puppy eyes. "You obviously liked it. What's your hang up?"  
  
"Look—there's no hang ups all right? It's just—" Dean cuts himself off, his profile furrowing. Then he's moving his warm body away from Sam's to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders pulling together. Sam can see every knot of tension he previously worked out just form all over again.  
  
Feeling bereft and cold, Sam lets himself fall back on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling and waits for Dean to talk.  
  
He hears Dean sigh, hears the scrape of stubble as Dean rubs a hand over his face. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Sammy. But if you wanna get stuck all the time, I'm not gonna say no. I know that's... what _normal_ mates do, and everything."  
  
"I don't want it because it's "normal", Dean. I want it because yeah, best damn thing I've ever felt. And you seemed to love it so I'm not really getting what the problem is here—"  
  
"Sam."  
  
"Why can't you just _talk to me_? Every damn time I try to get somewhere with you, you just shut me out."  
  
"Sam, we are not having this conversation."  
  
Increasingly irritated, Sam bursts out with, "why the hell not?!"  
  
"Because I said so!"  
  
"I'm not some 8 year old kid you can boss around anymore Dean! I'm your _Alpha_ ; I deserve some answers! Quit jerking me around!"  
  
Dean growls in warning, the sound kind of laughable coming from an Omega's rudimentary vocal chords.  
  
Sam instinctively growls right back, the sound much more powerful with Alpha behind it. It resonates throughout the room and makes Dean shake his head like there's something in his ear.  
  
Sam feels kind of bad, but Dean needs to know his place. He's never growled like that at Dean before, prefers to not go all Alpha on him, but lately he feels like he can only get so far trying to chip away at Dean's walls with gentle words and understanding.  
  
He sits up and scoots forward to sit by Dean, tugs them into a standing position. Dean doesn't fight, and when Sam lets his elbow go he's staring down at the floor submissively as his instinct demands. The only sign he's pissed is his jaw ticking as he clenches his teeth.  
  
Sam grabs his chin and lifts it, but Dean's still looking down. "Look at me," Sam commands in more Alpha Voice, and Dean's eyes slowly track up to his.  
  
Sam lets his chin go to run a hand through his own hair. "Is it me?"  
  
"...w—what?"  
  
"Is," Sam licks his lips and looks away, "it me? I mean, do you feel like." He has to stop again, wanting to roar at the thoughts. He sees red just thinking about it, but. "Do you feel like you want someone else? That maybe we're incompatible?"  
  
When Sam looks back at Dean, the Omega's making an incredulous face. "What the hell do you mean?"  
  
"Are you not happy, Dean? Is that it?" Sam laughs humorlessly. "Maybe you're just sick of me, right?"  
  
Dean scrubs his palm over his mouth. "Sam, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. It's never been like that. Whatever's wrong with me has nothing to do with you."  
  
"What? Dean, there's nothing wrong with you."  
  
Dean nods. "Yeah, okay. You know what," he picks up his discarded shirt from the bed and starts turning it right side out, "I'm gonna go out, all right? How's that? Get outta your hair. Let you—"  
  
Sam growls once more and snags the shirt away from Dean's hands. "Stop. God Dean just. Just." Sam gestures uselessly. He feels like he's been running into a brick wall the last five minutes. He wants to shake Dean and force him to talk, wants to know what the hell the problem is, wants to know _why_.  
  
Snarling in frustration, he drops himself back into the bed, wrapping his arms around the pillow and burying his face in it. He's so sick of Dean dodging and trying to run away. If he's not the problem, what the hell is?  
  
The bed dips, and Sam hears a sigh and feels fingertips trail down his bare back. "I swear it's not you Sam," Dean's voice says softly. Sam turns his head to the side to signal he's listening.  
  
"And I'm sorry for acting this way. Just, old habits you know? Shit man, I don't know what to say. I don't want to drag you into my shit. You don't need to worry about me."  
  
The bed creaks and Sam feels Dean's soft lips kiss the top of his back. "You're my brother, my mate, and I love you. That enough for you?"  
  
 _No_ , Sam thinks.  
  
Dean presses his cheek to his back. "We can knot all right? We can tie all day if you want."  
  
"I _want_ you to talk to me more," Sam murmurs. He turns over and looks up at Dean. "Maybe I can help."  
  
"And the chick flick keeps on rolling," Dean snarks. He pushes some of Sam's hair out of his face. "Don't worry about me Sammy. I'm here ain't I? I'll always be. Not going anywhere. Everything else is just background noise."  
  
"Right," Sam says, manages to smile a little bit. He hopes it reaches his eyes.  
  
Dean climbs into bed with him soon after, and when Dean's snoring softly, Sam drags his fingers over his stomach, splays the width of his palm against the flesh. If he presses enough, he can feel Dean's heartbeat against his hand.  
  
He's sure getting Dean pregnant will help him let go of whatever baggage he's carting around. He thinks a child—or six—will be great for them. They can give up hunting and carve out a life, dedicate themselves to their children instead of people that aren't even grateful when their lives are saved.  
  
He smiles an honest smile against Dean's temple; he can't wait to see Dean with their kids. He's already great with ones that aren't his own, and Sam knows he's going to be fantastic with their actual babies.  
  
Sam still can't figure out why Dean wouldn't want kids. Dean's made for nurturing, that much has been obvious since Sam was still in diapers. He's a natural.  
  
Dean's gotta want it, at least subconsciously. It's the missing piece, probably the reason Dean's surly all the time. He can deny it with words all he wants. Sam knows the truth.  
  
Sam continues stroking Dean's soon to be curved stomach. "Gonna be such a good mommy," he whispers, so quiet the vowels aren't even there. "Gonna give you what you need."

 

\----------------------------

Sam makes absolutely no effort to get up and get dressed the next morning. The clothes are just gonna come right off anyway.  
  
He sleeps till he rolls over and doesn't meet the firmness of Dean's body. Sam reaches an arm out across the bed, feels just the warm spot where Dean was lying.  
  
He yawns so wide his jaw cracks and opens his eyes. He can hear the shower running, which means Dean has already taken his pill for the day. Sam wishes he could've been awake to see that, see Dean completely oblivious, swallowing the pill he thinks is his Clinixa with a sip of water and a movement of throat.  
  
Sam's mouth goes dry. He sort of wants to get up and surprise his mate in the shower, but it would be awkward being tied in there while the water turned cold.  
  
So Sam stretches languidly, his back cricking a few times. They've got nowhere to be today, no new hunts, and Sam's got nothing but the joyous prospect of getting his knot in Dean and filling his belly with a baby.  
  
His cock stiffens against his thigh, and Sam strokes it absently, quickly getting lost in his head.  
  
It's only Dean coming out of the bathroom naked and shinywet that snaps him out of it.  
  
Dean catches his eye a second and a smirk curves his lips. He even walks over to the bed, leaving wet footprints on the carpet. Sam's about to reach out and pull him onto the bed, but Dean just kneels down to pull his duffel out from under, presenting for a moment the wet planes of his back and the top of his ass crack before he straightens up to unzip his duffel, looking at Sam from under his clumped wet eyelashes.  
  
Sam involuntarily squeezes his dick, and Dean's eyes track to it and back up, smirk creeping up into his cheek.  
  
Dean takes his time picking out his clothes, the little shit. Of course, Sam could be distracting him with the way he swipes his thumb over his drooling cockhead, but whatever.  
  
When Dean finally stands with his pile of clothes, Sam's patience is almost at an end. The buried primal, Alpha side of him is quickly emerging beneath his skin, taking over his thoughts. There's no way he can wait till Dean's dressed, there's no fucking way he can wait another damn _minute_.  
  
When Dean's turned to head back to the bathroom, Sam whips his hand off his dick and shoves it into the box of condoms. As soon as he pinches a poked foil packet between two fingers, he's off the bed and plastering himself to Dean's slick back.  
  
Dean starts forward, and Sam catches him around his waist, pulling them tight together. He scrapes his teeth over, then bites the nape of Dean's neck, humping his ass.  
  
"Sam," Dean groans in complaint, trying wiggle out of the cage of Sam's arms. "Not now dude."  
  
"Yes now," Sam says, breathy and urgent. "Right the fuck now."  
  
He grinds his sweatpants-covered dick as much as he can into Dean's crack. He keeps the poked condom packet clenched in his fist against Dean's hip, so Dean can't see it, can't see Sam's intentions.  
  
"Fuckin' want you so bad," Sam says hotly into Dean's wet air, scent of hotel shampoo and pheromones combining into something that makes Sam feel wild and unleashed. "Fuckin' tease. _My_ little fucking tease. All mine."  
  
Sam grabs Dean's cock with his unoccupied hand. It's still wet from the shower, and Sam tugs it and sweeps his thumb over the head in an imitation of himself earlier.  
  
He's already forcing gasps from Dean's lips. "Jesus—that—what the hell's gotten into you?"  
  
 _The thought of you getting big with my baby_ Sam thinks, says, "doesn't matter. Drop the damn clothes. You're not getting dressed today."  
  
"Uh," Dean says eloquently, if anything clutching the clothes tighter to his chest.  
  
Sam pulls on his dick, hard enough to cause a little pain with the pleasure. Dean jerks back, pushes forward with a hushed "you _fucker_."  
  
"Drop them or I'll stop," Sam warns. He knows that's really the last thing Dean wants; his cock is hot and straining in his grip, and Dean's breathing is labored and his hands are white knuckled where he holds his clothes.  
  
"Nuh—no," Dean whispers immediately, and Sam smirks.  
  
" _Drop them_."  
  
"Okay, all right, fine."  
  
And Dean lets the armful of clothes thump softly on the carpet.  
  
Sam makes a greedy noise, pushing them both forwards into the nearest wall. He pins Dean up against it with his body, sucking kisses across his freckled shoulders and dragging his cotton-covered dick up the crevice of Dean's ass, like he might be able to fuck him through his sweats.  
  
Sam eventually lets go of Dean's dick, trailing kisses down his spine till he's kneeling, and he puts the condom in his pocket so he can spread Dean open, his hands dark on Dean's cheeks. For a moment he has to pause and slide his thumb over Dean's slick hole, watch the way it twitches when he presses lightly, eager to be filled.  
  
Sam feels kind of breathless. "Jesus Dean, so damn pretty," he blurts, looking at the furled pink opening into his brother's body. The same opening that'll spread and gape wide around his knot.  
  
Dean moans, leans a little forward to press forehead against the wall.  
  
"Aw baby, don't be embarrassed," Sam shushes. "This is my favorite part of you."  
  
Dean snorts after a moment, then turns his head into the crook of his elbow. His ears are decidedly red-tipped.  
  
Sam smirks deviously, then buries his face in Dean's ass and runs the flat of his tongue from Dean's taint to the top of his crack.  
  
Dean's back arches, and when Sam looks up he sees Dean's mouth hanging open, the rest of his face hidden by his arm. Something about it makes Sam's heart swell, makes him all warm like honey's been poured through him.  
  
Sam licks some of Dean's slick from his lips, then drags his tongue over his hole again, determined to make his mate feel good. Dean's always embarrassed about how much he likes this, and it's the uncharacteristic shyness that makes Sam love him all the more, makes him love doing this.  
  
Sam spends a lot of time on his knees. He licks, prods, twirls his tongue around Dean's hole until Dean's subtly thrusting back and muffling noises into his arm. When Sam finally pushes his tongue past the ring of muscle, Dean's legs tremble, his toes dig and curl in the carpet, fingernails scraping the wall. "Fuck Sam," he groans. "Christ."  
  
Sam makes a happy, hungry noise in the back of his throat, wiggling closer and thrusting his tongue in as deep as it'll go. Dean's wetness and his own saliva dribbles down his chin, drips onto his sweatpants.  
  
Dean could come just from this, has before, but Dean's got a long recovery time till he'll be ready to come again, and Sam really wants to feel him fall apart around his dick, feel him squeeze to take his come up into his womb.  
  
He kneels up slowly, presses soft kisses up Dean's spine, until he's upright again. Dean turns around, fists a hand in Sam's hair and collides their lips together. "You want a taste of yourself too, huh?"  
  
"God." Dean rocks his hips against Sam's, ruts their cocks together. "Fuck, fuck. Need you Sammy."  
  
Sam growls at that, grabbing Dean's head and forcing it into the wall to plunder his mouth. "Yeah?" He asks when they part, voice turning reedy. "Need me don't you? Always gonna need me. Always gonna need your Sammy. Your _Alpha_."  
  
Dean closes his eyes, lifts his leg and curls it around Sam's hip, offering so sweetly it makes Sam's breath hitch. And fuck Sam wants that, wants to get Dean's legs up around him and just fuck him through the wall, have Dean clinging onto him like a limpet.  
  
But Sam's going to do this right. He pushes at Dean's knee. "Not like this baby."  
  
Dean's leg drops, and he opens his eyes, looking rejected. Sam kisses that look right off his face, then pulls both of them away from the wall.  
  
The bed? No. Not enough leverage on that cheap hotel thing. Floor would be better.  
  
"Okay," he breathes. God, it's a wonder he can fucking think somewhat straight. He pushes his sweaty hair back with a hand and points to the floor with the other. "Hands and knees."  
  
Dean gives him a bristly look, and yeah Sam could've been a little more couth, but his dick's currently trying to push through his pants and Dean's isn't looking too happy either.  
  
But Dean does it. He falls to his knees and plants his hands into the carpet, presents himself so pretty. He turns his head and says, "condom...?"  
  
"Got it," Sam says, "don't worry."  
  
Dean nods and hangs his head again, widening his arms. Sam can't tell if it's water or sweat that slicks his skin now.  
  
Sam quickly pulls the condom out of his pocket and hops out of the sweats.  
  
He gets himself behind Dean on the floor, and has to blink rapidly as he rolls the condom on. It feels surreal. He could knock Dean up today. _Fuck_. He could come at just the thought.  
  
His hands tremble when he grabs Dean's hips and pulls him back, lines up his dick with Dean's leaking entrance. With the latex stretched taut over his cock, he can't see the pinpricks, but he knows they're there. Sam feels kind of dizzy, light-headed. He blinks sweat out of his eyes. His come's gonna leak out from those pinpricks, gonna feed Dean's empty womb and get Dean pregnant, plant his baby in Dean's body.  
  
Almost involuntarily, Sam buries himself to the hilt.  
  
That little noise Dean usually makes punches out of him, and Sam sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites hard. Fuck, fuck, he's doing this. It's gonna work. Dean has no fucking idea. His breath rattles out of his throat as he drags his dick out, shoves back in. He digs his nails into Dean's hips, scores red lines across the bones.  
  
Dean drops down onto his forearms, hands digging into his own hair, which makes an idea form in Sam's mind. He scoots forwards, thighs bracketing Dean's, and lets himself drop down to drape himself over Dean's back. Dean buckles under his weight, till his chest is against the floor, and Sam pulls his hips up further till he's in full lordosis, the ideal breeding position.  
  
Sam can get into Dean real deep this way—it puts his dick right up against Dean's sweet spot, and Dean moans loudly. Sam expected some protest; Dean's positioned like a bitch in heat, like the shameless Omegas in dirty porn vids, Sam's weight pressing him into the floor.  
  
"Like this don't you?" Sam rasps. "Getting mounted like a bitch. Me all over you."  
  
Dean makes a helpless noise. It sends warmth through Sam's body, makes his thoughts crash apart and melt away until there's nothing left but the inborn urge fuck his mate till he's caught. Sam's thrusts turn hard and punishing, and he growls incessantly against Dean's skin but he can't stop.

He feels primal, hot and desperate, both out of control and in control. His fast brutal thrusts jolt Dean forwards, force stunned "ah,"s from Dean's mouth. Sweat drips from Sam's temples, wet pieces of hair falling in his vision. He squeezes his eyes shut, huffing out breaths and growls and half-formed sentences against the nape of Dean's neck.  
  
Dean's sounds get louder, then Sam feels him come, dick untouched. Dean jerks under him like he's trying to get away from the pleasure, but Sam's weight keeps his chest and shoulders pinned to the floor.  
  
"Fucking fuck," Sam snarls as Dean's choking warmth grips his cock tight in several contractions, as he feels Dean's slick spurt out past the plug of his cock. Dean's never done _that_ before, and Sam unknowingly smirks while he listens to Dean's sobbing breaths. "Oh Dean baby," he whispers mindlessly, rubbing the sides of his face against Dean's neck, getting his scent all over.  
  
"Shoulda told me you could do that. Fucking hot. God, just—I just fuckin' love you so much. You don't even, you can't even know. Fuck, just want to—want you to—" Sam stops talking then, biting back the words that would possibly screw his whole plan up. Dean might get suspicious if Sam starts saying how much he wants him to have his baby while he's deep inside and supposed to be wearing a non-poked condom.  
  
Sam thinks it though. His whole being's consumed in the desire. It's in every hard thrust and snarl, every clench of his hands around Dean's hips, in every heartbeat and sweatdrop. Each blood vessel in his cock's pulsing with it.  
  
His thrusts turn into grinds as his knot starts to fatten up. Dean's still beneath him, and if Sam had his eyes open he could see Dean's face turned to the side, ruddy-cheeked and panting.  
  
Sam wriggles closer like he's trying to make them one person. His hands leave Dean's hips to ring his arms around Dean's midsection, shallow thrusting the beginning swell of his knot in and out. He's gonna come, gonna come in Dean, and so hard it's gonna spurt out through the pinpricks and absolutely drench Dean's insides.  
  
He clutches Dean tight enough to bruise, and there'll be purple signs of his ownership blooming around Dean's stomach, flowering around his lower ribs, saying mineminemine along with the baby in his belly.  
  
Sam's knot drags past Dean's rim until it's eventually too fat to be pulled out. Sam's eyes water with the overwhelming pleasure, and he's got the meat of Dean's shoulder between his teeth to stop himself from shouting.  
  
Deans ragged, "Sam," sounds like it comes from miles away. There's a roar in Sam's ears, a thrum in his brain and bones. Dean spreads wide for him, and somehow they end up flat on the floor, the carpet burning Sam's knees as his legs stretch out, his arms protesting where they're still locked under Dean's body and now caught between carpet and the weight of them both.  
  
Sam might've worried about crushing Dean if his brains weren't currently spurting out of his cock. His eyes roll back under his lids, knot swelling to full size and stuck inside his brother.  
  
It's mindblowing, utterly shattering. He can feel his dick spit against latex, can imagine how his come is forced through the holes, how it sprays deep in Dean's insides, right against his cervix.  
  
It's better than yesterday, better than all the yesterdays. Sam unfastens his teeth from Dean's skin to pull in a shocked inhale. There's no leverage now, but Sam jerks anyway, utterly unable to keep still. He comes the longest and hardest he's ever come, gets the sensation he's become unanchored and he's floating out of his body and settling into the air above them.  
  
It goes on forever, it's over too soon. Sam becomes still and is aware he's opened his eyes and is staring wide-eyed and sightless at a patch of carpet, like he's awoken in a lucid dream.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
The voice vibrates against his chest, and he also becomes aware that he's still lying on his brother.  
  
"Did I just pass out?"  
  
"You have been pretty quiet these last twenty minutes," Dean says. He sounds muffled and hoarse, and Sam realizes he must be immensely uncomfortable.  
  
Sam tries to move his arms, but can't feel them. He turns his head and sees they're under Dean still, and have gone numb. "All right. Just, can you get on your knees and then I'll..."  
  
Dean grunts, planting his hands on the floor. Sam feels Dean's muscles tremble as he lifts up, and kind of wants to laugh because it's like Dean's doing a push up with Sam laying on his back.  
  
They eventually manage to get their knees under them, and Sam allows himself to tip onto his back, Dean seated in his lap.  
  
Dean shifts after a second, then growls and starts turning himself around. "Oh man, no way. We are not doing reverse cowgirl."  
  
He leans forwards and holds Sam's rugburned knees for leverage and contorts around, swings his leg around and over like Sam's a horse. Sam does laugh then at the graceless maneuver, and when Dean's facing him he makes a surly face.  
  
Sam's laugh dies off into a thoughtful hum as he stares up at Dean. He reaches up and smoothes floor lint from Dean's cheek, glides his hand down until he meets the crusting come on Dean's stomach.  
  
"Gonna have to take another shower," Dean grumps.  
  
Sam feels both sleepy and energized, body flooded with the still unfamiliar rushes of endorphins caused by getting stuck. Sam folds his elbow under his head and is content to just stare up at his mate, at his Omega.  
  
Dean stares back plainly. His dark blond hair is ruffled the wrong way, and his face is ruddy, eyes too bright. His cock's soft between his legs, but Sam can feel his external slick glands still dribbling wetness past where he's impaled on Sam's knot.  
  
Dean bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably. "Dude, my knees fucking hurt."  
  
"All right," Sam says, and wills his lethargic body to move. He sits up and wraps his arms around Dean, "hold on cowboy."  
  
He gets to his feet, Dean clinging tight. Thankfully the bed's not far, and he carries Dean over and deposits them both on the mattress.  
  
He maneuvers them so they're lying on their sides, back to chest. Dean yawns. "Just got up and now I wanna sleep again."  
  
"Feel free," Sam says into the nape of his neck. He rubs Dean's stomach, wondering if Dean's caught. He thinks probably not, with the remnants of birth control in his system, but he also thinks definitely yes.  
  
He starts when Dean wraps a hand around his wrist. "This your way of telling me I'm fat?"  
  
"What?" Sam balks. "Of course not. You're not fat."  
  
"Then you have a fetish?"  
  
Sam laughs and nips Dean's neck lightly. "That might be closer to the truth," he growls playfully. Dean snorts and lets his wrist go, and Sam carries on rubbing.  
  
Dean sighs and settles back into Sam's chest. "It does have a way of putting a man to sleep."  
  
Sam hums. Dean sleeping would make pulling out his cock when his knot goes down a lot less nerve-wracking. He thinks the come's too deep in Dean to leak out, but he's not sure. And he doesn't want to risk Dean seeing anything amiss.  
  
Thankfully, Dean's breath evens out into soft whistling snores five minutes later.  
  
Sam kisses his hair. He cants his hips back to try and pull out, but his knot's still going strong. Huffing in irritation, he stretches out and waits. Sam's only knotted one other time, and that was yesterday, and he hadn't kept track of time then. He doesn't know long it's supposed to last. It's been a half-hour already.  
  
Sam doesn't have anything to base it on. Talking about how long their knot lasts is just not info other Alphas are willing to share. And unfortunately in the Alpha/Omega porn Sam's watched the post-knotting parts are cut.  
  
Sam entertains the idea of reaching for his laptop and chuckles to himself. The depraved on SyndicatedA would probably give that info freely.  
When the time on the wall clock ticks to 10:50 he bites his lip and grips Dean's hip for leverage, then shifts back as slow as he can. His dick slides out all at once and he huffs a breath of relief.  
  
Sam rolls onto his back, looking down himself at the condom.  
  
The banded section of the condom where his knot goes looks pitifully deflated from being stretched for a damn hour, but Sam feels a heady rush of glee when he sees that there's only traces, streaks of come left in the rubber. That means almost all of it's in Dean.  
  
Sucking in a happy breath, he reaches his arm over and swipes his fingers up the crack of Dean's ass to see if any's leaked out. Letting his fingers catch the light, all he sees is slimy strands of Dean's drying slick. Sam sucks it off, smiling around his own fingers.  
  
Fuck, it worked. Dean's got his come deep in his womb and he's none the wiser, he's fucking _sleeping_.  
  
Sam's mind and body revs, and his cock gives an interested twitch against his thigh. Oh god this is great. Seriously fucking great.  
  
He sits up and carefully peels the latex off his dick, and gets up to throw it in the trash. He rustles some papers over it as a superfluous precaution. He doubts Dean would ever notice, but he's been extra meticulous so far and he's not going to slack off.  
  
He joins his mate back on the bed.  
  
Sam's cock is already fully erect. When Dean wakes up, they'll go another round.

  
\----------------------------

Over the next few days Sam makes it his primary objective to fuck Dean over every surface of the hotel. He takes Dean on the bathroom and kitchen counters, against a few walls, up against the fridge, in the shower, on the bed and beside the bed. On the sticky linoleum of the kitchenette and bathroom, on the soft carpet, sweeps things off the table and pushes inside his gasping Omega.  
  
He makes sure Dean's not in eyesight when he pulls the rubber off, makes sure Dean's not leaking his come—he doesn't, jesus, like he just sucks all Sam's come up into his womb.  
  
He watches Dean swallow down his fake pills in the morning, and that's enough to get his dick springing up and ready to go.  
  
Dean has nothing bad to say about Sam's sudden nympho urges, probably because Sam makes him come so hard he usually just passes out. Sam gets better at holding off his knot, so he can fuck Dean until his brother's face is soft with pleasure, his eyes open and dazedly looking at Sam like he's a god in mortal flesh.  
  
And for all his disinclination before, Dean starts to love being knotted.  
  
Sam feels it in the way he gasps and trembles, pushes and writhes.  
  
Dean grabs his hair hard and angles his head for a kiss, nails biting into his scalp. Dean's in his lap, Sam sitting in one of the table chairs, and Dean's riding him so forcefully Sam thinks the chair's legs are gonna give out any minute now.  
  
Dean swallows Sam's gasp as his knot starts filling, bites at his lips and tongue. "So fuckin' huge," Dean growls as he pulls back. Sam opens his eyes and Dean's eyes are right there, big and the green swallowed by black dilation.  
  
Sam tries to squirm his hips up to rut his knot into Dean, but the other man's just pulling up and down, swell of it popping out on every lift.  
  
Dean's upper lip is curled up in a snarl. He looks animalistic, like he had against the oven earlier. Sam wonders if it's a side effect of not having the unnatural hormones of Clinixa to temper him.  
  
"Fucking love you inside me," Dean husks, keeping their eyes locked. "Where you belong, just— _fuck_ —always. All mine."  
  
Sam groans, unable to keep his eyes open under the rush of pleasure. He drops his head against Dean's shoulder, takes ahold of his hips and pulls him down on his cock. The knot pops through Dean's rim, and Sam makes sure Dean's hips stay still. He ruts, grinds in little hikes of his hips until his knot's filled to capacity and locked inside.  
  
Dean's nails score over his shoulders, and he cries out, thighs bunching over Sam's and long toes scrabbling on the floor. He locks up snug around Sam and his cock spurts come up both their torsos.  
  
Sam wraps him close and holds him as he comes himself, stars exploding behind his eyelids. He bucks up hard enough to almost unseat them both.  
When he opens his heavy lids again, Dean's hands are back to pulling his hair, and he's undulating his hips in Sam's lap.  
  
Sam looks down, and fuck Dean's _hard_. "Oh my god. You..."  
  
"Feels so good," Dean gasps, eyes squeezed tight. "'S fucking _big_. Should've fucking started this a long time ago, never... never realized what I was missing."  
  
Sam shudders, goosebumps pricking up on his arms. He puts his hands on Dean's hips to steady him as his mate squirms on his knot.  
  
Dean's sounds become increasingly desperate and he pushes on Sam's shoulders. "Sammy help me."  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Christ. I don't. I." Dean swallows and whimpers. "Just _move_."  
  
"We're tied," Sam protests.  
  
"Know. I know. Fuck, just. Please. Move like you're trying to pull out."  
  
"I don't want to hurt—"  
  
"Not gonna fucking hurt me," Dean snarls. He digs his fingers into Sam's deltoids. "Need it. Now."  
  
Sam breathes softly against Dean's heaving chest. "'Kay."  
  
He exhales deeply and lifts Dean up, ignoring the urge to follow him with his hips to keep them comfortably stuck.  
  
Dean's hands move to plant atop his shoulders, and the swell of Sam's knot is pulled against his rim. Dean gasps and Sam stops. "Are—"  
  
" _Sam_ ," Dean groans, which says everything.  
  
Reluctantly, Sam lifts him higher, until the beginning of his knot is stretching Dean obscenely wide.  
  
Dean wheezes, head dropping down. It looks like it hurts, god it has to, a knot's meant to stay in until it's gone down, it's against all of Sam's instincts to try and—  
  
Dean's muscles jump under his hands, and then Dean's coming, or it feels like he is, clenching around Sam's knot, but there's nothing coming out of his dick. Dean shouts, bending over himself. Sam drops him down, not knowing what's happening.  
  
When Dean's not crying out anymore Sam runs a soothing hand through his short hair. "....Dean?"  
  
Dean clears his throat and looks at him. "Oh man," Dean says, laughing. "Oh man."  
  
Sam's eyes track behind Dean's shoulders, then refocus on Dean's face when it occurs to him. "Did you just—?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Dean smirks.  
  
Sam raises his eyebrows. "You never said you could have anal orgasms."  
  
Dean makes a face. "No, no—let's call it ass-explosions, Sam. Implosions. Fireworks in my ass."  
  
Sam buries his face in Dean's chest, smiling. He reaches down a curious hand and strokes Dean's still-hard cock.  
  
Dean bats it away. "Dude, don't."  
  
"How are you still hard as a rock if you came?"  
  
"Maybe it's a one or the other thing." Dean reaches down himself and just barely touches his cock before he hisses. "Nope. Way too sensitive. Well so much for multi."  
  
Sam kisses up his chest and scrapes his teeth over Dean's neck. "Don't count it out yet."

\----------------------------

They run out of condoms three days later. Sam buys the next box, pricks them and keeps them in his duffel during their drive to California. Bobby had called and informed them of a probable nest of vamps in Redding.  
  
Sam hadn't wanted to go. He wanted to stay in the cheap hotel room that smelled overpoweringly of sex and SamDean.  
  
The hunt went off according to plan, and they walked out of the old cabin covered in blood with heads rolling on the floor behind them.  
  
Still, easy as it was, Sam feels the weariness in his bones, the ache of wanting to get out as strong as it was when he was 18. He doesn't want to hunt anymore, definitely doesn't want Dean hunting. They've given too many years of their lives to this.  
  
Sam feels decades more than his 26 years, feels like he's made something of his life and now it's time to rest.  
  
He's ready to settle down.  
  
Dean tightens his hands on the steering wheel. "Kinda sloppy in there."  
  
Yeah, Sam was. Distracted. "I know," Sam says. He smoothes his hands over his thighs and leans forwards. "Dean, you ever wanna stop? Like, retire?"  
  
Dean scoffs. "Maybe when I can't walk." He pauses and looks over at Sam. "That what you wanna do?"  
  
"More and more everyday."  
  
Dean falls silent for a little while, as interstate signs race by. There's a mixtape in, turned down to a tinny background noise. Sam thinks from the baseline it's _In A Gadda Da Vida_.  
  
When Dean speaks again, he says, "you really think that's a possibility don't you? Apple pie life? Think we'll be able to swear it off and move out into the boonies somewhere, and what? Plant wheat?"  
  
Sam slumps back against the seat. "I just don't want to worry about you dying every week."  
  
"Same goes for you! Especially now that you're getting lazy... Vamp almost drank you like a Campari cocktail."  
  
"My heart's not in it Dean. Not anymore. Honestly... I guess I'm just done."  
  
There's a few beats of still silence, and Sam stares out the windshield plainly. A sign races by that says _Buckle Up And Drive Safely_. Dean takes their exit.  
  
He skates his eyes over to Dean's profile and sees that at least he doesn't look angry.  
  
Dean alternates his fingers on the wheel, sighing deep like rustling obituary papers. "Done," he repeats, toneless.  
  
"Yeah. Done."  
  
Dean nods a little in affirmation. "Okay. So you're done then."  
  
"With hunting," Sam specifies, wondering if Dean's taking this the wrong way.  
  
"All right."  
  
"'All right?' That's all you have to say?"  
  
"What do you want me to say Sam? Let's give up and go be farm boys? Have our own little _Brokeback Mountain_?" Dean snorts derisively. "We got the bug Sam. We can't stop. We won't let ourselves."  
  
"Or maybe you won't let _yourself_ ," Sam says. "I'm ready Dean. I'm sick of hotels, of being in a car eight hours a day, tired of the fake suits and the lack of appreciation. I'm tired of always having to be someone else and keeping everything a damn secret. I'm ready to just buy a big fucking house and start worrying about leaky faucets instead of if we're gonna be alive tomorrow night."  
  
Dean makes a non-committal noise, and the tinny of In _A Gadda Da Vida_ changes to _King Nothing_.  
  
"I guess I just want us to be safe, Dean," Sam continues. "I love you way too much, and if something happened... if you..."  
  
"Shut up man. Not like I'm gonna keel over right this second. Know what you're doing right now? Jinxing us."  
  
"—or what if I died? How would—"  
  
" _Sam_ ," Dean growls.  
  
"See? It could happen, in fact, it's likely. We're playing with fire and we're gonna get burnt soon. Me, you, both of us I don't know. But it's gonna end bad. Always does for hunters. And it's not worth it."  
  
Dean looks over at him with a concerned expression. "What is this Sam? Some kind of vision you had?"  
  
"If I said it was, would it change your mind?"  
  
Dean looks away.  
  
On the side street there's an Alpha with her pregnant mate, strapping a squalling baby into a stroller. Both the women look up cursorily at the roar of the Impala passing, lingering smiles stretching their lips, faces happy and serene.  
  
"I guess not," Dean says.


	3. Part III

  
"You know Dean ain't exactly the settlin' down type, Sam," Bobby says.  
  
Sam switches the phone to his other ear. "I know. Better than anyone, probably." He starts stirring the steaming soup clockwise. It's tomato rice, Dean's favorite, and should be done by the time he makes it back. "Kinda been pestering him, you know, about kids."  
  
"Yeah, he tells me as much," Bobby gruffs.  
  
"Then you know he's against it."  
  
"Well he never outright told me that. Called you an asshat and some other choice phrases, went into a damn movie review about _An Omega Baby Story_ that kept me on the phone a damn hour. Boy really hates that show, let me tell ya."  
  
"I might've tuned in for every marathon," Sam chuckles. He turns off the burner and gets a cold one out of the fridge, shouldering the phone to use the bottle opener.  
  
It's only after taking a long drink that he speaks again. "He told me no."  
  
"Yeah?" Bobby sighs, sounding disappointed himself. Sam thinks, as their adopted father, he probably wants some grandkids. "I'm sorry Sam."  
  
"Yeah." He sets the beer on the counter and begins the process of ladling out the soup. "I feel like... he's just so _weird_ about it Bobby. And of course, you know Dean, he won't tell me the damn reason."  
  
"Keep chippin' at him. Give him some time too, let him warm up to it. His biological clock's gonna get the memo sooner or later."  
  
 _I've waited long enough_ , Sam thinks. He doesn't say so however, he says, "yeah," like the patient kind of Alpha he is not. The kind that doesn't get dirty thrills over poking condoms and pulling the wool over Dean's eyes. "Well I'm sure the wait'll pay off."  
  
Him and Bobby say their goodbyes just as Sam hears the rumble of the Impala. He sets Dean's soup on the table and stands with his own bowl, blowing on the steam.  
  
"Something smells good," Dean says as he walks into the small kitchenette. He slides his cheek over Sam's and rumbles affectionately. "Two things actually."  
  
Sam almost spills hot soup everywhere when he feels fumbling at his belt. "No, oh no, you are eating first. I worked hard on that."  
  
"I bet you did," Dean says lowly, staring up at him from under his eyelashes. He's now got the tips of his fingers underneath the waistband of Sam's jeans, just resting there.  
  
"Where'd you go?" Sam hedges out, Dean's rampant scent utterly tantalizing. Ever since Sam's swapped his pills and started knotting him he's been utterly insatiable, wild and licentious. He wears Sam out, puts sweet pleasure aches deep into his bones.  
  
"Just the store. Didn't have any pie." Dean steps closer and buries his face in the dip of collarbone exposed by Sam's shirt. He inhales deeply, shuddering. "Fuck, they should put you in phero mags. Have all the 'megas going crazy."  
  
"You'd get jealous."  
  
"Right about that." Dean takes another greedy sniff before he steps back, hands coming away from Sam's belt. He catches sight of the bowl Sam's holding and lights up. "Tomato rice?!"  
  
"Yours is over there Dean," Sam says when Dean looks as if he's going to snatch Sam's.  
  
They sit at the table and tuck into their bowls. "This is great," Dean tells Sam with a big smile. "You learned from the best."  
  
"Please. That's my own recipe."  
  
"Whatever you say Sammy."  
  
By the time Dean's scraping his bowl his eyes are drooping. He yawns. "Damn. Well I guess that's what a homecooked meal does to you."  
  
Sam stands. "Here," he says, holding out his hand for Dean's bowl. Dean passes it to him with another wide yawn. Sam puts the dishes in the sink, and when he turns around Dean's about to plant his face in the table.  
  
Sam goes back and hefts Dean up out of the chair by his armpits. "Nine o'clock's past your bedtime now?"  
  
Dean slumps against him like Sam himself is a bed. "'S that good cooking," he mumbles. He snuffles into Sam's shirt and leans heavily against him.  
  
"Don't get too comfortable," Sam chuckles, walking them backwards to the bed, Dean reluctantly shuffling with him. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he turns and lets Dean fall back onto it. A grateful moan comes from Dean's lips, and he stretches out immediately.  
  
Sam shucks off his shirt and jeans before he gets on the bed and does the same for Dean. The other man shakes his head as Sam begins rucking up his henley. "Too tired Sam."  
  
"'S okay, but you don't wanna sleep in your clothes do you?"  
  
"Mm. I d'n care." Dean does lean up though to help Sam get the shirt over his head.  
  
Sam pulls his boots off, then thumbs the button out of his jeans and Dean wriggles his hips and giggles. Sam rolls his eyes as he pulls down the zipper. "Lift up."  
  
"Oh Sammy," Dean says, breathy and exaggerated, rolling up his hips, and bursts into laughter when Sam pulls his jeans down his thighs. Sam snorts and shakes his head, and the jeans join the pile of clothes on the carpet.  
  
When he looks up the length of Dean's body, Dean's eyes are open and looking at him with fondness, mouth still spread in an indolent smile. "Wish I wasn't so tired," he says, eyes purposefully falling to Sam's crotch.  
  
Sam tilts his head, eyes leaving Dean's face to dart to Dean's belly. He impulsively sets his hand on it, skin dark against Dean's flesh. The thought that his baby might be in there seems very profound, something altogether unimaginable. It'd be just a speck now, just the start of something, extremely vulnerable but safe and protected in Dean's body.  
  
Dean pushes a socked foot into Sam's side. "Ain't an object for you to project your fetishes on, dude."  
  
"You are the fetish," Sam grins, slips his hand off Dean's belly and leans up to nip his chin.  
  
Dean pulls his hair, then rolls onto his side, shaking with silent laughter. Sam growls playfully, slips behind Dean and wraps him up tight in his arms.  
  
Dean wiggles, then manages to turn over with Sam beneath him, so he's laying supine on Sam's chest.  
  
"Got you now," Dean says to the ceiling.  
  
"You got me," Sam says from underneath, muffled by Dean's shoulder. Dean scoots down, back rubbing against Sam's nipples and ass rubbing against his crotch, which makes Sam's cock twitch in interest.  
  
When Sam's lips are free he mouths at Dean's freckled shoulder, makes goosebumps pebble on Dean's skin. He slides his hand up the rise of Dean's ribs and rubs the heel of his hand against a pert nipple. "Have we had sex like this?"  
  
"Mm." Dean wriggles around to get more comfortable on his Sam-brand bed, shoulder blades digging into Sam's ribs, but his ass also grinds into Sam's groin and his dick starts to fill at the stimulation. "'morrow Sammy."  
  
"All right."  
  
"Quit pokin' me."  
  
"That's all your fault. Go to sleep, Dean."  
  
"'m trying but you're breathing too hard."  
  
"Stop grinding against me then!"  
  
"I am doing no such thing."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"G'night, Sammy."  
  
"...night."  
  


\----------------------------

  
Sam knows Dean's pregnant before Dean does.  
  
He knows because he rolls over on a humid Wednesday morning in Denison, Iowa and buries his nose in Dean's side, and underneath the scents of cotton, laundry detergent, skin and mate there's an _extraness_.  
  
Sam takes in a big inhale involuntarily, groggy brain chugging to life. He inhales that rich scent into his lungs and shudders hard enough to shake the bed.  
  
Not opening his eyes so he can take in the full impact of it, he shuffles closer and fumbles for the hem of Dean's soft shirt and pulls it up. He trails the point of his nose down Dean's sleep-warmed belly. The scent's strongest at the waistband of Dean's sweats, where Dean's womb lies beneath his skin.  
  
Dean's womb with his baby inside, safe and growing.  
  
Sam gasps, opening his eyes. All he can see is Dean's skin, so he raises up and looks at Dean's face. Dean's deep asleep, plump pink lips parted and face relaxed, and Sam feels such an intense rush of _beautifulminemate_ that he surges up and catches those plush lips with his own.  
  
He settles between the vee of Dean's legs, peppers kisses up Dean's nose and over his eyelids, then takes his lips again, sinking his teeth softly into the generous pink.  
  
Rumbling pleasantly, he kisses over Dean's chin and down his neck, pushes Dean's shirt up further so he can catch a nipple in his mouth. In just a few months Dean's milk will come in, and Sam groans at that thought, picturing rivulets of white leaking out, being cleaned up by Sam's tongue, filling his mouth.  
  
He lets the nipple go and soothes the flat of his tongue over it, then repeats the treatment on the other one.  
  
He kisses down Dean's sternum, hands coming up to frame his ribs. He lets himself press soft reverent kisses down Dean's stomach. The heavy vanilla richness fills his nose, his head, makes his nerves sing and his cock wet through his pants.  
  
Not stopping his kissing, he trails his hands down Dean's flanks until his fingers slide under the waistband of Dean's sweatpants. He slides them down, kissing all the new skin revealed.  
  
He has to move away to pull the pants off Dean's feet, but then he's back, settling low between Dean's legs. He runs his tongue through Dean's pubic hair, tilts his head and gets Dean's soft cock in his mouth, pulls up to suck it hard.  
  
Dean tenses under his hands, but doesn't stir. Sam trails his tongue up along the underside, laves at it until it begins to stiffen and fill out.  
  
Dean breathes out a different breath than he previous steady ones, one leg coming in and pressing against Sam's side. Sam grabs under that thigh and pushes it out again, further and up. He takes the hand back and slides a finger down Dean's taint, presses into furled muscle. Dean's not too wet yet, but it's enough let Sam's finger slide in to the last knuckle. Dean's hole squeezes around the intrusion, head turning into the pillow.  
  
Sam lets Dean's cock out of his mouth with a wet sound. "C'mon Dean," he urges. He worms in another finger beside the first, Dean so tight his muscles squish the digits together. Sam scissors his fingers as best as he can, and feels Dean getting wetter, slick coating his inner walls and beading around the rim held open by Sam's fingers.  
  
" _Deannn_ ," he coaxes. He fingerfucks Dean slow and easy, swirls his tongue in the belly button that will be pushed out from how big Dean's gonna get. Sam finds himself breathing raggedly, because Dean's perfect, perfect.  
  
He rests his chin on Dean's stomach, waiting for his brother to wake up while he squeezes in another finger.  
  
Sam feels a rush of slick past his fingers just as Dean opens his green eyes. Dean tenses up all over before relaxing and looking down his body at Sam.  
  
"'Bout time," Sam grins, watching Dean blink groggily.  
  
"Can't rush—ah!" Dean cries out as Sam takes his cock back into his mouth, bends his fingers inside Dean to rub his sweet spot, and Dean comes in his mouth with loud harsh pants just like that.  
  
Sam swallows, then works his way up Dean's body. He helps Dean get his shirt off while Dean pulls and tugs at his own clothes. When they're naked except for socks, Sam lays on his back and settles Dean in his lap, holding his cock steady so Dean can sink down on it.  
  
Halfway in and Dean's eyes fling open, and he spreads his hands on Sam's pectorals. "You didn't put on a condom!"  
  
Sam wants to laugh. He holds Dean's hips tighter and cranks on the puppy eyes. "C'mon Dean, one time isn't gonna hurt is it? Just once? Please?"  
  
He rolls his hips up. Without the barrier of latex, Dean's hotter and wetter against him, around every single millimeter of Sam's cock. It's so much better Sam doesn't know if he's going to be able to put another rubber on his dick ever again.  
  
Dean looks dubious, he looks like he might pull away. A hot flair of anger clenches Sam's teeth. Doesn't Dean know he's his? Doesn't he know that's Sam's baby in his belly? Doesn't he know he's Sam's to love and fuck?  
  
"Dean," Sam whispers, belying his heated thoughts. "Let me do this."  He takes one hand off Dean's hip to run it over his stomach, up his chest and neck, and slides his thumb between those lips, into the cavern of Dean's mouth. He lifts his hips, and Dean closes his eyes and his mouth pulls in to suck Sam's thumb as he falls down on Sam's cock.  
  
Sam's breath hitches, drinking in Dean's expression. He takes Dean's half-hard cock in his other hand, and Dean's teeth scrape over his thumbnail. "Move baby," he says, soft and imploring.  
  
Dean exhales through his nose, air brushing Sam's hand. He lets Sam's thumb pop out, opens his eyes and leans forward. His hands move to wrap around Sam's biceps for leverage, then he's lifting up on Sam's cock and reseating himself seconds later.  
  
"Guh—good," Sam murmurs. He relaxes with one arm bent under his head while his other hand works at Dean's now fully erect cock. Dean rides him in a steady rhythm, looking down at Sam with an almost painfully open expression.  
  
When Sam ties him and comes, Dean has no protest. His cock jerks and spits come up his stomach, his nails bite into Sam's arms and he groans low and loud.  
  
In the afterglow, when Dean's wrapped around him like an octopus and his come is drying and starting to itch, Sam pets his back and laughs soundlessly.  
  
Dean bats at him for the shaking. "What the hell's so funny?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
There's a lot to laugh about, lots to be happy about. Pure glee that his mate is having his baby after all this time, because Sam pulled it off, he did it.  
  
And now he has an out; he can use today as an excuse as to how Dean got pregnant, that his birth control simply failed on the one time he let Sam in him without wrapping it up. Dean won't know about all the poked condoms, that he likely conceived weeks ago instead of today.  
  
Dean yawns suddenly, then snuggles into Sam's chest. "'m so tired, Jesus."  
  
"You've been that a lot lately."  
  
"Huh. You're right. Think it's 'cause I got nothin' to do besides have sex with your ass. Wolf's gotta hunt or he gets fat and lazy."  
  
Dean had pretty much dragged Sam to Denison to investigate rumors of a rusalka in the Boyer river, luring people to their deaths. Sam had been adamant that he wasn't going to be a partner in this one, so Dean spent days being turned in circles by the townspeople and police, only to find the river was a dumping ground for a very human serial killer. That had thrown Dean in a despondent funk, made him a little more malleable to Sam's suggestions.  
  
Sam runs his fingers through Dean's dark blond hair, and dares to hope. "I noticed you haven't been looking in the papers..."  
  
"Yeah, well." Dean props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Sam with a speculative expression. "What's the point if you're not coming with, right?"  
  
Sam blinks several times, mouth opening and closing. "You—does that mean..."  
  
"Look, not forever, okay? This is just a little vacation. Few months for you to get all your weird knotbrain nesting urges out."  
  
In a few months Dean's belly will be curved out with Sam's baby, and there won't be any more hunts, even if Sam has to tie him to the bed.  
  
"Thank you Dean," he says, kisses him softly. Then he buries his face in Dean's neck and breathes in light omega-scent accompanied now by the rich vanilla of pregnancy. It's a scent only Alphas can pick out, so Dean won't notice, won't know he's pregnant until Sam tells him.  
  
Sam's aware of the other signs too—Dean's recent fatigue and how he's gradually calmed down during sex, not so aggressive, hormones plunging because his biological imperative has been fulfilled. Of course, Dean's not aware of any of that either.  
  
Sam knows the next part will be the hardest—he's gotta figure out a way to tell Dean.  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
Dean gets more Clinixa the next day, and after reading that birth control can be risky to take while pregnant, Sam swaps them out with some kind of vegan supplement the Alphas on SyndicatedA tell him is safe.  
  
When temperatures start creeping into the uncomfortably muggy 90s, a yawning Dean slaps the keys into Sam's hand and says he's had enough of the damn heat, and Sam drives the 160 miles back to Sioux Falls. Dean sleeps for the entirety of the drive, head lolled to the side.  
  
When Sam pulls into the salvage yard Dean only wakes up long enough to get out of the car and go inside, give a one-word greeting to Bobby Singer and take his boots off before he's passed out on the couch.  
  
"Long drive?" Bobby asks, handing Sam a longneck, both looking at the slack-mouthed man draped over the sofa.  
  
Sam chuckles. "No. Slept the whole way though, and a good twelve hours before that."  
  
"Hm. Sounds like a real bitch of a hangover."  
  
"That's not it," Sam says, and sees Bobby look at him from the corner of his eye. Sam takes a drink of his beer and sighs. "Bobby I gotta talk to you. Outside."  
  
Not that he doesn't think Dean's asleep. But Dean's a hunter, always one ear perked up, and Sam doesn't want anything filtering through.  
  
"All right Sam, what's this about?" Bobby asks as they walk to the front door. Sam and him step out in the warm air. Sam shuts the door, turns to look at Bobby.  
  
Bobby looks like he's about to shake him. "This is somethin' to do with Dean isn't it? Let me guess: the boy's got a week to live."  
  
"No," Sam says. "Jeez Bobby, no. Dean's fine."  
  
"Then what's this about him sleepin' too much? Spit it out boy!"  
  
"All right. Dean's pregnant."  
  
"He sure don't look it," Bobby responds without missing a beat, throwing Sam off.  
  
"You're not surprised?"  
  
Bobby grunts, takes a long drink of his beer. "Why would I be? Only a matter of time wasn't it? Don't know how you convinced him, but..."  
  
"Kind of an accident, actually." Sam turns his head to look out into the salvage yard, at the falling sun streaming through the wrecked cars. "He doesn't know yet."  
  
"How do _you_ know then?"  
  
Sam scratches the back of his neck. "I can smell it."  
  
"How the—" Bobby cuts himself off as he realizes. "Alpha, right. Nose that'll put a sniffer dog out of business."  
  
"We can't smell drugs, Bobby," Sam reminds him. Of course, Bobby's a Beta and can't really know finer details like that. He takes another drink of beer. "But yeah, I can smell it."  
  
"When you gonna tell him? Now or when he looks like an overdue seahorse?"  
  
"I don't know... next week maybe? Neither of us expected this to happen, so..." Sam trails off, and beneath the lie there is a truth of anxiety. He has no idea how Dean will react.  
  
Bobby must see the look on his face because he says, "don't worry, I'm sure he'll be dead set on keeping the little rugrat. You know how that boy is with kids."  
  
Sam does know. That had been the catalyst for the desperate want in Sam's head—seeing Dean talking gently to a frightened boy during a hunt in Virginia. Looking at Dean bonding so easily with a child had stirred up something buried and intrinsic in Sam, had made his world suddenly tilt and illuminate, just like _oh, that's it_. That's what he wants to see Dean doing the rest of their lives, talking in low soothing tones to their babies, wrapping their kids in hugs and kissing them on the forehead on the first day of Kindergarten like Dean had kissed Sam all those years ago.  
  
"He'll make a great mother," Bobby's saying when Sam tunes back in. "Hell, he's been one to you almost your whole life."  
  
Sam smiles. "Yeah, he has. You know, I never really thought of it that way."  
  
Bobby takes a pull of beer, looking somewhere behind Sam's shoulder. "Dean loves you a lot. You know, I see it sometimes, way he looks at you, when he talks about you, that look he gets. Damn humbling thing, all that devotion." Bobby looks him in the eye. "Don't take that for granted son. Dean's somethin' special."  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
When Dean finally manages to stay awake for more than five minutes, he insists on going to do laundry. Unfortunately, it's 6am when Dean's finally up and about, wandering the house like he's some kind of morning person.  
  
Sam awakens to Dean shaking his arm, bugging him about if he needs any clothes done, or is he good? Sam just murmurs something he hopes is a "no," and rolls over in the opposite direction of the voice that's just woken him from what might be the deepest sleep he's had in years.  
  
Dean says something else, but Sam's mind is too foggy to pick out the words. He's fallen asleep again by the time the bedroom door clicks shut, dreaming once more as the Impala's engine filters through the house and vibrates his bones.  
  
Of course, it's the Impala that wakes him up again an hour later.  
  
Sam rolls onto his back, yawning explosively. He's content to just lay there unmoving for a little while, listening to the sounds of Dean coming into the house and puttering around downstairs. There's an ache in his head that tells him he's gone too long without coffee, but Sam can't bring himself to get out of the warm bed just yet.  
  
An undetermined amount of time later, the bedroom door opens and his mate comes in, bringing with him a scent that's just _wrong_ , like fur being rubbed the wrong way.  
  
"Damn, Sam, you should've seen this—"  
  
Dean steps further into the room, and that's when the scent really hits Sam. He's out of the warm bed before his brain can even send the message for him to move, and Sam grabs Dean's shoulders and pushes him into the wall. "Who the fuck was it?" Sam croaks, voice wrecked from sleep. "Huh?"  
  
Because Dean smells inexplicably like another Alpha that's definitely not Sam. Sam dips his head and trails his nose down Dean's neck, lets out a furious growl at the wrongwrongwrong scent there. Fuck, it's all over Dean, burning Sam's nose, making every part of him roil and shrivel and burn.  
  
Sam presses himself against him lightly, tempered by his hindbrain telling him _carefulpregnantvulnerable_.  
  
"I was gonna tell you man," Dean says, and Sam raises his head to stare down at him. "There was this fuckin' guy at the laundromat that was all over me."  
  
Sam clenches his teeth, thrown up in his mind images of himself bashing a head into pavement until teeth skitter over the cement.  
  
Dean inhales deep, chest expanding against Sam's. "He was fuckin' nuts—kept telling me I smelled good and tried to grab me."  
  
Fuck. Now that's something you just don't fucking do. Most Alphas have enough self-preservation to stay away from a scent-marked, mated Omega. But apparently not the scum that had tried to molest Dean. Sam drops his forehead against the cool wall next to Dean's and tries to calm down.  
  
"What'd you do?" Sam asks after a deep breath.  
  
"I punched that mother in the face. One way to remind someone you're spoken for." Dean chuckles a moment. "He said a lot of crazy shit, looked possessed. I don't know. I must look real good today or something because lots of Alphas were checkin' me out. He's the only one that tried something though."  
  
Dean buries his face in Sam's shoulder. "Maybe it's the new aftershave," Dean muses.  
  
Sam knows what it really is. It's the new, extra richness in Dean's scent, thick and heady. Alpha noses instinctively know it, and there's a reason why there's a whole series of phero mags dedicated to the scent of pregnant Omegas.  
  
Shit. By getting Dean pregnant, he's also made him smell like a walking wet dream, a lure to the more knotbrained Alphas.  
  
"Should've gone with you," Sam says, pulling his face from the wall. He feels considerably calmer, at least. Calm and guilty.  
  
"I took care of it," Dean says against his shoulder. He turns his cheek into it and gives Sam a contrite look. "Shoulda told you before I came in."  
  
"It's all right... maybe I should come with you from now on..."  
  
"Yeah, like I need my Alpha hovering over me everywhere I go. I can take care of myself. I'm sure it's just an isolated case, anyway."  
  
"It'd make me feel better if I was there, Dean. What if you run into that guy again?"  
  
"Jeez Sam, you're paranoid. I dealt with fuckers like him all the time while you were at Stanford."  
  
"Then I'm paranoid," Sam says. He pulls Dean's face out of his shoulder to slide their cheeks together, finding comfort in spreading his scent over Dean's indeed great smelling aftershave.  
  
"Here." He slides the offensively smelling jacket off Dean's shoulders and pulls him over to the bed, gets him to lie on his back and settles on top of him.  
  
He makes sure his scent gets into the fabric of the shirt Dean's wearing, then takes that off so it's skin-on-skin, rubs himself against Dean until he's thoroughly scent-marked, drenched in the smell of SamDean with an undertone of warm vanilla.  
  
The act, the retaking and validation sets to rest the possessive parts of Sam's brain until he's back to feeling like everything's perfectly right.  
  
He rubs his cheeks against Dean's at the end, and Dean rumbles in pleasure, catching his lips when Sam's mouth brushes across his.  
  
Dean rolls them over, kissing Sam gently for a few moments before he breaks away to yawn. He snuggles into Sam's arms. "'m gonna fall asleep on you again."  
  
"A trip to the laundromat and some scenting and you're tuckered out?"  
  
"Guess so," Dean mumbles, lips moving against Sam's pectoral. "Just need a nap."  
  
Sam absently runs a hand down Dean's spine, only stopped by Dean's belt, which he taps against.  
  
Dean wriggles in complaint. "Said a nap not a fuck."  
  
"I know," Sam laughs. He takes his hand up to smooth down the back of Dean's hair. He kisses Dean's temple, wrapping his other arm across Dean's shoulder blades. "I love you, Dean."  
  
"Love you too Sammy," Dean mumbles sleepily. As he falls asleep and relaxes, he seems to melt into Sam.  
  
 _Mine_ , Sam thinks, inhaling the extra-special scent of Dean. That's all his too, his baby in Dean's belly. Sam's arm around Dean tightens. He's definitely gonna have to go with Dean now, make sure any other Alphas know that Sam's the lucky one, and Dean's rightfully his.  
  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
"You know, you shouldn't sleep on the couch, bad for your back," Sam says, pushing a container of pie across the coffee table to his yawning brother who tried vainly last night to stay up watching _Every Which Way but Loose_.  
  
Dean grunts, then his eyes land on the store-bought pie and he visibly wakes up and brightens, reaches for it. He tears open the plastic and Sam waves a spoon in front of his face before Dean can just dig his fingers into the cream frosting and go to town.  
  
Dean takes the spoon and wastes no time scooping out a big bite and putting it in his mouth. He moans loudly and sags back against the cushions. "Wow. Dude, it's _actual pie_."  
  
"What? I always get you _actual pie_."  
  
"No, you usually forget the pie, and when you do remember, it's not even pie it's cake or yogurt. This, this is a first Sammy." Dean pats Sam's thigh.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"Mm." Dean gets a piece on his spoon and sticks it between Sam's lips. "That's all you're getting."  
  
Sam rolls his eyes but slides the pie off the spoon. It melts in his mouth like cotton candy, too-sweet for his tastes.  
  
"How long've I been sleeping?" Dean asks.  
  
"You've been out all day."  
  
"What _is_ today?"  
  
"Saturday."  
  
"Huh. Do you think I'm sick or something? Some kind of fringe thing?"  
  
"No. I think your body's making up for all the lost sleep over the years. Now that we've stopped— _taken a break_ , from hunting, it's caught up to you."  
  
"Yeah, you're probably right." Dean finishes the last spoonful of pie, and gets up to throw away the container.  
  
When he comes back, it's with a beer in his hand.  
  
Sam gets up so fast his knee collides with the coffee table. He trips around it, darting over to Dean. "Woah, woah Dean! What're you doing?" He takes the bottle away, leaving Dean's hand clasping at nothing.  
  
Dean raises his eyebrows. "Uh, _having a beer_ , Sam. That a problem?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah it's a problem," Sam says, stepping back a little to run a hand through his hair. Shit, how's he gonna convince Dean not to drink? Dean doesn't know he's pregnant. And Sam doesn't feel like this is the right time to tell him.  
  
He inhales, braces himself, and gestures with the bottle. "You got a problem."  
  
"I got a problem," Dean repeats plainly, face shutting off. There's nothing Sam hates more than that look, but he's got to do this. "Look Sam, I don't have time for your _Intervention_ crap. Just give me my damn beer." Dean makes a grab for it, but Sam holds it out of reach. Dean lets out a weak omega-growl, tightening his hands into fists. "What's your fucking problem?"  
  
Sam doesn't growl back, even though showing some Alpha Voice could have Dean sitting calmly on the couch and all thoughts of alcohol out of his head, left with nothing but the instinct to obey his mate.  
  
But no, Sam's doing this the hard way. "You drink way too much Dean! 'member when you got trashed a few weeks ago and drove home? You could've killed someone!"  
  
"I was fine! Why the hell are you bringing that up? And you drink as much as I do!"  
  
 _I'm not the pregnant one_ , Sam thinks, words almost pouring from his lips. But he just gestures pointedly to the bottle of beer, walks to the sink, and upends it.  
  
"Really Sam?"  
  
"Really," Sam says. He shakes the empty bottle at Dean and sets it down hard on the counter. "Look, no more for me, no more for you. Let's try and get sober on our break."  
  
Dean narrows his eyes. "What's so special about this break? Why we gotta be sober?"  
  
Dean's eyebrows tighten as he looks searchingly at Sam, before his eyes widen and he scoffs. "You fuckin' liar. I'm sick ain't I?"  
  
"Dean, Jesus Christ—"  
  
"You pushing for time off, me being wiped out all the time, now I can't drink? What the hell is this?"  
  
"It's nothing! Dean, it really, honestly, has nothing to do—"  
  
Dean starts walking towards Sam. "It's got everything to do with everything. How'd this happen Sam? How much time I got left?" Dean steps up to Sam. "If I'm gonna die you can at least tell me how many days I got left before I croak!"  
  
"You know what? Fuck it." He grabs Dean by the elbows. "You got six months Dean, because you're pregnant."  
  
And there it is, out of his mouth, off his chest, in Dean's court now. All he can feel is relief.  
  
There's no deafening silence after, there's Dean laughing and scoffing, saying, "yeah Sam, pregnant. That's great."  
  
Dean pulls his arms out of Sam's hold to rub his hand over his mouth. His eyes track around the room. "Nice delivery there. Waco Kid level stuff. You practice this?"  
  
"It's not a joke Dean," Sam says quietly. He sort of expected this reaction, but didn't hope for it, and it's hard to hear.  
  
"Yeah it is. Dumb fuckin' joke too. Can't believe you."  
  
"You should; I'm not lying to you."  
  
"Yeah you are," Dean says. His voice wobbles. He's not looking in Sam's eyes but somewhere down near his chin. "You're a real dick, you know that? You're just. A damn joke. You're a joke. And nuh—none of this is funny at all."  
  
"Dean, _stop_. Let's sit down so we can talk—"  
  
Dean barks out a laugh. "So you can try and shove this bullshit down my throat? I ain't buyin'. No. No, I'm gonna get outta here a little while," Dean turns and goes into the livingroom, snagging his jacket and keys, "and when I come back you're gonna have this turned down to sane fucking levels all right?"  
  
Sam rushes forwards and yanks on Dean's arm, jerking him close. "Are you _serious_ right now?" He growls near Dean's ear. "Where you think you're going, huh Dean? A bar? Gonna drink while you're _pregnant_?" Sam digs his fingers through leather as he tightens his fist around Dean's upper arm. Dean gasps a tight breath. "Just not give a shit about your baby? Are you that fucking stupid, that fucked up to put a innocent baby at risk? Are you—"  
  
Pain smashes into Sam's cheek, whipping his head to the side with the force of it, teeth gnashing into his own tongue, Dean's ring scratching under his eye.  
  
Sam doesn't let go of Dean though, and when he turns his head to look at the older man, Dean's face is red and furious and his eyes are wet.  
  
Dean's eyes dip down to his mouth where blood must be leaking out, and his face falters a split second before he's meeting Sam's eyes again and gritting his teeth. "You know what's best for you, you'll forget we ever had this conversation."  
  
"Hah! Forget! Let's see you forget when you're on your back _pushing out my baby_!"  
  
Sam gets punched again. It splits his lip open, but he doesn't give a shit. All the pain's lost under the hot rage that Dean's denial causes, all the damn despair that maybe this isn't right at all, and Bobby was wrong and Dean's just gonna hate him instead of warm up. Under the fear that Dean's gonna get rid of their baby and leave him.  
  
Dean shakes his arm out of Sam's grip and stands there a second, looking like he's going to say something else. But in the end neither of them say any more and Dean slams the door on the way out.  
  
Sam stays there numbly, flinching when the Impala angrily growls like an extension of Dean. He stands there minutes after he can't hear the car anymore.  
  
When he does move, it's to mechanically go into the bathroom and spit out the blood that's welled in his mouth, wash it off his lips. In the kitchen he finds the beer bottle on the sink, goes back to the bathroom and dribbles the remnants of alcohol over his bitten tongue.  
  
In the mirror, there's a blue bruise blooming on his left cheek, two thin scratches across his cheekbone that are beading little droplets of red. His split lip's swollen and bloody again. He gets some tissues and presses them to the cut.  
  
He ends up in the livingroom, just sitting on the couch and staring into a whole lot of nothing.  
  
That's how Bobby finds him.  
  
"Thought you boys might've had a fight; Dean really tore outta here," Bobby says.  
  
Sam presses the tissues into his lip harder and says nothing. It's probably just as well; he can't really move his tongue.  
  
Bobby sighs deep and pulls up a chair to sit in front of Sam. "All right, let me see."  
  
He pulls Sam's hand away from his mouth to see the damage. "All right, don't look too bad. Any teeth loose?"  
  
Sam shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. He presses the tissues to his lip again.  
  
"All right. Now what the hell happened?"  
  
"I told him," Sam says quietly, bitten tongue stinging against the roof of his mouth, lip hot with pain. He shrugs helplessly and gives a watery chuckle. "He left."  
  
"He'll be back, Sam. Don't you worry about that. Give him some time."  
  
Sam's growl bursts out of his throat, and he gets up and pulls his own hair, tissues falling on the floor. "I'm so tired of hearing that! I'm so tired of his shit! This isn't how—wasn't supposed to fuckin' be this way—" He snarls again. He wants to cry, he wants to start throwing things, and if this wasn't Bobby's house he would be. He feels betrayed in the worst way by Dean's denial. "Is it—is it so fucking bad? He acted like I just told him I totaled his car for fuck's sake! What the hell is wrong with his head?"  
  
"Look Sam, let's calm down here. I know it ain't normal either, but Dean's got reasons he acts like he does."  
  
Sam snorts in disbelief, turning around slow to look at Bobby. "So you _know_ then? When the hell were you gonna tell me?!"  
  
"Listen, Sam, I don't know for sure. I just got guesses. I have as much trouble getting Dean to talk as you."  
  
"What's your guess, then?"  
  
"My guess ain't even my story to tell, and I'm not gonna," Bobby says, leveling Sam with a hard glare that brooks no argument. "But let me tell you, if I'm right, there's no fixin' it, 'less you can turn back time. It's something I s'pose you'll both have to deal with. But Sam," and Sam looks up, eyebrows raised, "six months and you'll have a good lookin' baby, and you know Dean'll take one look at the thing and forget everything else. It's just gettin' there that's gonna be a bitch."  
  
Sam takes that in, nodding slightly. He desperately wants to know Dean's hang-up, desperately wants to be able to help him even a little, get him to talk, get some damn answers. But Bobby's got a point, Sam's sure too that once the baby's born Dean's inherent nature will take over and he'll stop being so repudiative.  
  
"You're probably right, Bobby. I just wish this could be a good time for us, you know. That Dean would be happy about it, like I am. I wish Dean was...I don't know..."  
  
"Easier?" Bobby finishes for him, and Sam nods. "Sam, you knew when ya mated that boy "easy" was never a thing for either of you. You're good together, but you're real different. And that's all right, but we can't have either of ya sitting around whining about it all day. This little lover's tiff, you know you'll get past it, wrapped up in each other as you two are."  
  
Bobby stands. "Now how about I fix ya up somethin' to eat?"  
  
Sam smiles wanly. "You can't cook Bobby."  
  
"Think I can manage to make one of those damn salads ya like. I gotta do somethin' to get that kicked puppy look off your face."


	4. Part IV

  
Dean comes back at 3 in the morning. Sam only knows that because he stays up, mindlessly watching an _I Love Lucy_ marathon and just as mindlessly eating a bowl of grapes.  
  
The only time he's gotten up in the past six hours was to take a piss. The lights are off, he's sitting in the dark and the TV's kind of hurting his eyes, but he can't really care. He feels too heavy to move, to even think, and has accepted he's going to nod off on the couch in front of the too-bright TV when the rumble of the Impala reaches his ears and vibrates the coffee table.  
  
He pops another grape into his mouth, keeps his eyes on the TV, but now he's painfully aware of everything where there had been just easy numbness before. Sam honestly hadn't expected Dean to come back for at least a few days.  
  
And now he's going to be coming through the door and Sam has no idea what to say, looking like a psycho in the dark with the television on mute.  
  
Fuck. Sam puts the bowl on the coffee table and fumbles for the remote, turns _I Love Lucy_ up just a little, so there's not just absolute oppressive silence weighing the room, weighing Sam, down.  
  
He hears the Impala's engine cut off and wonders what to say to Dean. The first thing is to apologize, but he has nothing to say sorry over. No, he won't apologize for telling Dean the truth, that'll just put Dean further in the mindset that Sam was joking. And Dean was the one throwing punches, not him.  
  
The lock clicks and the door opens.  
  
Sam looks plainly through the television, listening to Dean grumble and the whisper of his hand sliding on the wall until the light switch is flipped. Light bursts into the room, and Sam blinks hard at its assault.  
  
"Christ, Sam," he hears Dean mutter. He doesn't sound drunk, at least.  
  
Sam says nothing, but Ethel says to Lucy, " _This is Ethel, your friend, to whom you may turn in a moment of crisis_."  
  
There's a crinkling swish noise with Dean's steps, some kind of bag. Sam turns to look but only gets the flash of Dean's jeans as he goes upstairs. Sam settles back, pursing his lips. Dean's probably going to bed, and he's still down here on the couch, making things worse with the divide.  
  
Fifteen minutes later brings about the end of the _I Love Lucy_ marathon, and an infomercial about a blender takes over the screen.  
  
Sam rolls his head back on the couch, weighs the pros and cons of going upstairs. In the end it comes down to the fact that he's not going to get anywhere by sleeping on the couch, and he might get somewhere if he tries talking to Dean tonight.  
  
He blows out an explosive breath and points the remote at the TV, cutting off the announcer mid-sentence. He stands up and stretches, spine cricking loudly. He's tired, aching, and his tongue hurts like a bitch. A bed does sound a lot better than the lumpy too-small couch.  
  
He heads upstairs. If Dean doesn't want to talk, that's fine. Sam can take it up with him tomorrow. Today's been way too fucking long.  
  
Sam gets to the bedroom. Dean's not in bed, and when he looks around he sees that the adjoined bathroom's door is shut, sliver of light underneath.  
  
Sam yawns. He haphazardly gets out of his jeans and pulls off his shirt. He finds a loose pair of dark track pants in his duffel then lets himself belly-flop onto the bed, arms spread wide.  
  
He turns his cheek into the mattress to stare at the closed bathroom door, wondering how long Dean's been in there.  
  
Sam closes his eyes and turns his head to the other side, determined to be deep asleep by the time Dean comes out.  
  
But his mind keeps him awake. Ten minutes pass and his eyes open up again. He groans as he rolls onto his back, scrubbing at his face. Dean's still in the bathroom.  
  
"Did you fall in?!" Sam yells.  
  
There's no response.  
  
"Whatever." He stares up at the ceiling, feeling hopelessly restless. And exhausted. He bundles Dean's section of the covers in his hands and inhales the comforting smell of his mate. He closes his eyes and once more waits for sleep that doesn't come.  
  
When he opens his eyes again, he expects Dean to be lying there next to him, but a glance at the closed bathroom door means Dean's _still fucking in there_.  
  
Growling, Sam slides off the bed and pads across the carpet to bang harshly on the door. "Dean! What the hell are you doing!?"  
  
No answer.  
  
" _Dean_!"  
  
Nothing.  
  
Sam presses his ear against the door. He doesn't hear a shower or sink running, but he can hear just slightly the sound of Dean's breathing. Well at least he's not dead in there.  
  
Sam wraps his hand around the doorknob and turns it experimentally. It's not locked. "Dean, I'm coming in."  
  
Dean has nothing to say to that either.  
  
Worried, Sam steels himself, before he exhales slow and pushes open the door.  
  
The first thing he notices is the white bag on the counter with a CVS logo, an open blue box next to it. The next thing he notices is Dean, sitting against the bathroom wall with two white things on the floor and the third pinched in his trembling fingers. Dean's staring down at it.  
  
In the first few moments Sam's not clear on what he's looking at, what Dean's looking at, but when he takes a step into the bathroom and can read the labeling on the box, everything becomes pristine.  
  
"Oh," he utters, punched out. "Dean."  
  
"I'm waiting for this one," Dean says, without inflection. "This is the last one."  
  
Sam shuts the door gently behind him, picks up the box on the counter. It proudly proclaims there's two pregnancy tests inside with an extra one included for free, and boasts that it's over 99% accurate. An upside down horseshoe-shaped symbol is printed on the top of the box, denoting its use for Omegas and not Beta women.  
  
He looks in the plastic bag and the only thing in there is a jumbo-sized candybar.  
  
He looks at Dean again, who looks unbelievably small sitting on the floor, knees bent and dressed down into just a grey henley, jeans encroaching on socked feet.  
  
Sam sits next to him with a resigned breath, their shoulders pressed together. He reaches between Dean's knees to get the white sticks on the floor. There's two blue lines on both of the tests. "Two for positive right?"  
  
"This is the last one," Dean repeats. His expression is stony, but fragile like glass.  
  
"Okay," Sam says softly. He should probably leave Dean alone considering the mood he's obviously in, but instead he watches the white device along with Dean.  
  
Next to the control line, the other is slowing fading into view beside it. It takes a minute to fully form, and then there's three tests that have come back positive.  
  
Dean just keeps staring at it like he can will that blue line out of existence, like maybe if he has at least one test negative he can throw it back in Sam's face.  
  
But it's positive. They're all positive.  
  
"...Dean?"  
  
The test shakes harder in Dean's fingers before Dean drops it on the floor, the _thwick_ of it obtrusively final. Dean just keeps staring.  
  
"All right, Dean. It's real late, man. Let's get you into bed, huh?" Sam unfolds himself and stands, then hooks his hands under Dean's armpits and pulls him up. Face in the direct light, Dean looks bad. Pale with blue circles under his eyes, which are dim and fastened to the floor.  
  
Sam opens the door and gets Dean to the bed. He doesn't bother taking any clothes off, just pulls the thick comforter over his mate. He settles in beside Dean, turning onto his side to look at him.  
  
Dean hasn't moved from the supine position Sam put him in. He's just blinking rapidly like he can shake truths off his eyelashes.  
  
Sam pulls a hand out from the covers and strokes his cheek, stubble rasping against his palm. "'s all right Dean."  
  
"No, it's not," Dean says, voice small. "Not all right. This was never supposed to happen."  
  
The words dredge up a pang in Sam's heart, but he doesn't respond angrily. His hand slides off Dean's cheek, under the covers, to rest on Dean's warm cotton-covered stomach. "Dean, I know you're upset, but there's a little version of you and me in there, and that's amazing. Isn't that something to be happy about?"  
  
Dean's eyebrows clench tight. He stares down his body to the spot where the comforter conceals Sam's hand on his stomach.  
  
"I don't understand. You don't wrap it up once and...? I still took my pills. I take them every damn day. I've _never_ missed one."  
  
"I know Dean." _All too well_. "But you know, sometimes those things fail, baby. You _have_ been taking them a long time, your body's probably built up an immunity."  
  
Dean looks very perturbed. Sam slides his hand up to Dean's chest to find where one of his hands is folded. He interlaces their fingers, kisses Dean on the cheek.  
  
Dean makes an uncomfortable sound, jerking away. His fingers untangle from Sam's as he abruptly rolls onto his side. Sam watches him bunch the comforter up to his chin, so all Sam can see is the dark blond of his hair.  
  
Sam stays there, watching him. His eyelids droop and fall as sunlight glows behind the curtain, and he falls asleep with an arm outstretched into the insurmountable space between them.  
  


 

\----------------------------

  
Sam wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder and weight on his legs. He lets out a muffled groan, turning his face away.  
  
"Sam."  
  
"Ten minutes."  
  
"C'mon Sam, it's three o'clock already. Time for sasquatches to get out of bed."  
  
The owner of that voice finally filters through Sam's mind, and he blinks his eyes open, shuts them tight when sunlight knifes into them. Shielding with a hand, he squints tentatively and makes out Dean's face through the light. "Dean?"  
  
"In the flesh," Dean says. He's sitting on the bed, over Sam's knee and drinking from a coffee cup. He peers closer at Sam, "oh man, your face looks like hell."  
  
"Whose fault is that?" Sam mutters. He rubs his eyes and sits up, looks around the room blearily.  
  
"Here." Dean holds out the cup, which is warm and full of coffee. Sam takes it, and winces as he sips, not because it's too hot but because his bitten tongue announces itself angrily.  
  
Dean notices. "Your lip need stitches?"  
  
"'s my tongue."  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow and after Sam's next sip, he touches Sam's mouth. "Say 'ah.'"  
  
Sam rolls his eyes but sticks his tongue out, and Dean's brows furrow as he looks at it. "I wanted to kiss and make up, but..."  
  
Sam lets him trail off and doesn't say anything. He wants to tell Dean that caffeine is bad for the baby, but they're walking on an ice-thin peace right now and he doesn't want to crack it all over again.  
  
He tries to shift his leg out from under Dean and the limb doesn't respond. "Dude. You're cutting off my circulation."  
  
"What? Oh." Dean gets up, momentarily washed out in the sun before he steps in a darker spot. As pins and needles bring feeling back, Sam sets the coffee cup on the nightstand and runs a hand through hair he knows is sleep-messy.  
  
He looks at Dean, who's just sort of staring back at him. The air thickens with undeniable tension, and Sam lets out a papery sigh. "How're you doing?" He asks, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible, but it comes out positively laden with the essence of the things that lie in the air between them.  
  
"Fine," Dean says. "Fine. I'm..." And he gets stuck there with a click of throat, like a clogged bullet.  
  
"...fine?" Sam finishes for him, and Dean nods quickly.  
  
"Yeah," Dean says, exhaling the breath, shoulders dropping. "I'm uh, sorry about your face. I kind of knew you wouldn't lie about something like that, this, but... I don't know man. I'm really fucking lost here."  
  
"Well, I didn't expect this to happen either, Dean," Sam lies, schooling his face into the honest expression of the brother Dean thinks he is.  
  
Dean gets that disturbed look again. "Just, god—that one time? One time without a rubber and bam, I'm Mr. Mom?"  
  
"I know, it's pretty weird," Sam agrees as he gets up. He takes out his duffel and picks out a shirt and a pair of jeans, and while he's zipping them up he says, "but you know, birth control fails all the time Dean."  
  
"'specially for the people who really need it," Dean says lowly. Sam looks up at him a second to see crossed arms and pursed lips.  
  
Sam's fingers pinch the button of his jeans too hard, a sharp cut of pain before he pushes it through the hole.  
  
Then it's silent, as Sam puts on a shirt and buttons it up, and the sunlight blazing in from the window shifts to break over Dean's shoulder.  
  
He's smoothing the wrinkles out of the shirt when Dean walks over, starts rooting around in the open duffel on the bed.  
  
Sam swallows, asks, "what're you doing?"  
  
"You got a comb in here?" Before Sam can answer, Dean finds it. He steps up to Sam and reaches up to start pushing it through his hair.  
  
"Uh, Dean... _ow_!"  
  
"Sorry. Gotta get you lookin' a little less like Ed Scissorhands, huh?"  
  
"I can do this myself..."  
  
"Aw, c'mon Sammy! 'member when I used to do this when you were younger?"  
  
"Ow—god Dean, hold it by the—"  
  
"You always were tender-headed..."  
  
Sam accidentally bites into his already bitten tongue when the comb hits a bad snarl, and then resigns himself to grumbling and standing there. At least Dean's pressed up against him lightly.  
  
When the comb glides smoothly through Sam's hair, Dean drops his arms and looks intently at Sam's face. He brings the unoccupied hand up to stroke over Sam's cheek, skin of his lip tight between his teeth.  
  
"Looks that bad?"  
  
"You look like the descendant of a smurf." Dean smiles quick and weak, then drops his eyes. "I shouldn't have done that Sam. You were just telling me the truth."  
  
"It's okay, really. I probably wouldn't have believed me either. We _have_ been really careful."  
  
"Yeah." Dean drops the hand with a brush of skin. "We have."  
  
Sam clasps a light hand around Dean's arm, unable to take it any longer. "Dean, what do... what do you want to do?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nuh—nothing? What's that mean, 'nothing'?" Sam searches Dean's face, because it's not, at least, Dean wanting an abortion. But it doesn't sound right.  
  
Dean shrugs a little, steps back, Sam's hand falling off and away. He puts the comb back in the duffel then folds his arms. "Nothing. Let it run its course."  
  
And that, that sounds worse than Dean suggesting they get rid of it. It sounds worse because it's the way Dean talks about illnesses and injuries, things that require enduring, about things painful and inevitably temporary.  
  
"Run its course," Sam repeats, feeling like he's not even speaking. "Okay. Then?"  
  
Dean gives him a reproachful look. "What do you mean 'then'?"  
  
Unease starts turning Sam's guts cold. "I mean when the baby's born, Dean. What then?"  
  
Dean turns and walks towards the window, muttering a hedged answer under his breath and shrugging again.  
  
"Dean! What _then_?"  
  
"Adoption, all right! We can put it up for adoption, drop it off at a fire station, I don't know. Then get back to hunting."  
  
The room tilts, and Sam stumbles back. "You," is all he gets out, hoarse and hollow.  
  
"I mean c'mon man, this was an accident. I'm sure someone else'll want it more than us."  
  
"I want it!" Sam shouts, and thinks his voice isn't nearly loud or strong enough, isn't as powerful as the cry his heart makes. "Dean, this is like a dream come true for me! You can't just—you can't do that."  
  
Dean bows his head. "I know. I know that you want this, Sam, but. You know, I just—I don't. I told you that before, and nothing's changed. That's just the way it is. I'm sorry."  
  
The colors of the room run, drip down yellow and mahogany and wobble dangerously around the broadness of Dean's set shoulders. "You're not doing that," Sam says, voice breaking and becoming hushed and harsh. "You are not gonna give up our baby like that. If you don't want anything to do with it, I can still take care of it. You can give it to me, and we can just, just... I don't know what _we'll_ do, but you're not giving our baby to someone else."  
  
Dean growls and turns around. "Don't you get it Sam? This was a mistake! And what do we do about mistakes? We fix them, and try not to keep making them, which apparently you can't fucking comprehend!"  
  
"So our baby's a mistake then?"  
  
" _Yes_! Yes it is! What else would it be? Oh, a blessing?" Dean laughs in a way that sets Sam's teeth on edge. "Yeah fuckin' right. Not for me. Not for me." Dean scrubs a hand over his mouth. "It's not its fault, so I won't go to the damn clinic, but adoption's the only option, Sam. I'm not gonna lose you over this."  
  
"You are gonna lose me," Sam tells him, and that makes Dean's eyes lock onto him, like Sam's gonna sprint out any second. "There's only one way you don't lose me, and that's you growing the fuck up and taking responsibility."  
  
"Respon—?!"  
  
"It's your baby, Dean! Your _child_! You're gonna be a mom! And you're gonna be a damn bad one if you won't even consider taking care of it, and pass the buck to someone else!"  
  
Dean inhales raggedly. "That's not—plenty of people can't have kids and want—I'm not—" Dean blinks several times, and for a horrible second Sam thinks he's about to cry, but then he's tightening his jaw.  
  
"Man, I do _not_ need to hear this shit."  
  
Then he's walking past Sam, because he's gonna fucking leave, gonna run away, and Sam doesn't think. He wraps his hand around Dean's elbow and wheels him around, gets his other hand around Dean's upper arm and rushes him against the wall. Picture frames rattle and so does the door, and in the back of his mind Sam's wondering what the fuck Bobby must think, but he's hissing out, "you're not gonna fuckin' ruin this for me Dean."  
  
Dean glares up at him, breathing hard through his nose. "Let me go Sam."  
  
"Mm-mm," Sam disaffirms. He lets the hand on Dean's elbow move to Dean's stomach, splays his fingers wide. "That's _my_ baby in there Dean. Maybe that matters more to you than the fact that it's also yours, but whatever. Point is, you're not doing anything with this baby that I don't agree with, and that definitely includes taking it away from me in any way. Like I said, you don't want to take care of it, fine, give it to me, and we'll be over."  
  
Sam doesn't really mean that, he knows. There's no such thing as "over" between the two of them and never has been, but he's willing to say anything right now to get through to Dean.  
  
"So just like that?" Dean whispers, eyes beseeching and reflecting Sam's face back at him. "You're gonna choose a baby over me?"  
  
"But it doesn't have to be that way, Dean," Sam soothes, taking his hand off Dean's other arm to cup his cheek. "We can do it together."  
  
Dean's forehead creases as his expression turns downright supplicative. "I—I can't Sammy. I ain't lyin' to you, I really can't do that. I can't be that."  
  
Sam takes both his hands and smoothes over Dean's shoulders, rubs down his flanks, holds his hips. Dean's eyes flutter. "Why?" Sam softly asks, looking between Dean's eyes like he might find answers there.  
  
Dean swallows, eyes falling to the inch of floor between them.  
  
"C'mon Dean," Sam continues, "there's gotta be a reason. I know there is.  What the hell's holding you back? I know you love kids, you're so good with them Dean, how can you think you wouldn't be good with our own?"  
  
"I just don't want them," Dean says blithely. "Okay?"  
  
Sam purses his lips and shakes his head. "There's something else. I know it. It's not just the kids, it was the tying too."  
  
"Why are you bringing that up? That's over with!"  
  
"Because you started liking it!" Sam presses his thumbs under the hem of Dean's shirt, warm skin against warm skin. "Don't you think you could learn to like your kid? Don't you think you might be able to change your mind?"  
  
Dean gives him a sad little head shake. "No," he says quietly. Sam just stares at him for a few moments, eyebrows helplessly pleading. Dean's image quivers and something trickles down Sam's cheek.  
  
"Sam," Dean's blurred mouth utters, "Sammy it's okay." His touch is light on Sam's face, thumbs swiping away what Sam realizes are tears. "Fuck, I'm—here—" Dean kisses him, body firm along his own. He kisses desperate and urgent, and Sam surges him back against the wall, breathes a choked off sob which Dean swallows.  
  
He doesn't know what Dean's trying to do. Distract him? Anger pools and overflows inside Sam, and with a guttural noise he tears his mouth away from Dean's.  
  
Dean tries to follow him, whispering, "'s okay Sammy," but Sam must not know what he's trying to do either because he turns Dean around by the hold on his hips and pins him to the wall with his weight.  
  
He reaches around to unbuckle Dean's belt then pulls his jeans and boxer-briefs down past his ass. He unbuttons and unzips his own jeans, hefts his dick out, pulls Dean's legs apart by the insides of his thighs, and lines up. He pauses, head bowed and face dug hard into Dean's shoulder, just breathing in halted breaths with the other man.  
  
Dean's trembling a little, muscles flinching where Sam has his hands holding his waist. Sam hears the click of his swallow, before, "Sam please don't leave me," in a voice that feels like glass shards over Sam's rapid heart.  
  
Sam squeezes his eyes tightly shut, and buries himself inside Dean. It feels like he just sort of falls into him, weightless and propelled by frustration and pain.  
  
"Not gonna," Sam says past the clog in his throat. He fumbles for Dean's hands, and slips his fingers in the spaces between Dean's. "Don't give our baby away."  
  
He pulls out, pushes in, drying tears making his face feel tight. Dean's wet, but not wet enough, nearly painful friction for the drag of Sam's cock.  
  
Dean pushes back into him, but says, "I can't be what you want me to be, Sammy. I can't."  
  
Sam sucks in a constricted breath. He puts Dean's hands up against the wall, gripping tight enough to hurt. The next thrust is punishing.  
  
Neither of them say anymore.  
  


 

\----------------------------

  
_weeks later..._  
  
  
  
"Brighter 'n a bitch out here," Dean complains, shielding his eyes with the hand Sam's not holding. "Gonna give me more freckles."  
  
"God forbid," Sam says, nearly dragging his brother into the pharmacy, where fluorescents replace the sunlight. He should probably let go of Dean's hand now—Dean's gonna bitch any second—but there's two Alphas in the aisles that look up with flared noses, so he just tugs Dean closer and stands up straighter.  
  
"Ugh," Dean says next to him. "You know what Alpha posturing smells like? Burnt patchouli."  
  
"C'mon Dean," Sam mutters, "I think they're over here."  
  
After days of himself and Bobby—which started a whole new fight when Dean found out Sam had told Bobby about the pregnancy before telling Dean—trying to persuade Dean to start thinking of the baby's health, Dean had finally caved in and renounced caffeine and agreed to start taking vitamins.  
  
He walks Dean down the middle aisle. Dean twists his hand in Sam's, "you gotta hold my hand? This sucks. You should've just gone by yourself."  
  
"You're gonna be taking them, you should pick them out."  
  
"And I can't go by myself because I'm gonna get molested in a CVS, right."  
  
"You smell like a walking wet dream Dean. If I wasn't with you, you can bet those guys would've tried something."  
  
"Then I'd knock their teeth out like I did the last one! See, this is why this shit sucks. You're treating me like I'm a piece of wet tissue paper. _Let go of my hand_!"  
  
Sam lets go to Dean's pulling, and the shift of forces almost makes Dean lurch into shelves full of cough medicine. Dean manages to right himself, and they glare at each other. Dean growls softly, before his eyes skate past Sam's shoulders. "Well, looks like they're right there."  
  
Sam turns, and sees the shelf dedicated to prenatal vitamins. Dean comes up next to him, and they search over the labels.  
  
There's a big selection; the store must've restocked recently. There's brands all advertising different things—vegan types, one daily, gummies, mini-tabs, bigger bottles, smaller bottles.  
  
"Wow," Sam says. "We might be here all day." He picks out a flashier bottle, "how about this one?"  
  
"That's for women!" Dean seethes.  
  
Chastened, Sam puts it back. "Right."  
  
Dean picks up one himself and shakes it. "Okay, this one."  
  
"Is that for Omegas?"  
  
Dean pulls it back to search the bottle. "Doesn't say."  
  
"Maybe that means it's for both?"  
  
"Maybe not. S'posed to have the symbol." Dean puts the bottle back and bites his lip, before he picks out a particularly masculine looking bottle and squints at its labeling.  
  
"Betas," Sam points out, catching sight of the black calligraphic B sticker on the bottom.  
  
Dean confirms that and huffs. "Let's just—"  
  
"Do you need any help?"  
  
Sam and Dean turn at the female voice to see a Beta clerk smiling gently at them.  
  
"No," Dean says, on top of Sam's "yes."  
  
Sam shoots Dean a Look, then smiles politely at the girl. "Yes, thank you. We're looking for the uh, Omega prenatals?"  
  
The woman, Emily according to her name tag, steps between them to peruse the shelf herself. She twists her lips after a minute and kneels down to the bottom row. "I swear if I have to tell that jerk one more time..." she huffs while she scans over the shelf. Finally she plucks out a green bottle and stands up. "We've heard some good things about these." She smiles and looks between the two men. "So which one of you is gonna be taking them?"  
  
"He is," both of them say.  
  
Sam gives Dean the second Look of the day while Dean just snickers. Sam takes the pills from the Beta. "He is, actually."  
  
"Yeah, I figured," she says absently, and Dean bristles like an angry cat. "Oh, and those are the kind you only gotta take once a day too. This your first?"  
  
"Yep," Sam says.  
  
"And last," Dean adds.  
  
"Oh you might change your mind about that," Emily says to Dean. "Kids are like chips; you can't just have one."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. "How many you have?"  
  
Emily smiles. "Six."  
  


 

\----------------------------

  
Sam watches as Dean swallows the vitamin with a swig from a can of club soda. Dean grimaces and shudders. "Ass. It's complete ass. If I puke, I'm pukin' on you."  
  
Dean leans against the bathroom sink, making a screwed up face for a good two minutes before he relaxes. "You got lucky this time Sammy."  
  
Sam takes the can from him and finishes off the drink. "I'll make sure to wear your favorite shirt next time. You'll throw up all over Robert Plant."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
Sam throws the empty can in the trash and cages in Dean with his arms. "Jerk," he smiles. He looks between Dean's peridot eyes then tilts down to catch his lips with his, Dean's exhaled breath gusting across his face. He drops his forehead on Dean's shoulder and looks down his body, pulls up his t-shirt.  
  
Dean tenses, and Sam turns his head to nip his neck lightly, then looks down again. "I think you're showing," he says, holding up the shirt with one hand and taking the other off the sink to rub the subtle firm curve of Dean's belly.  
  
Dean slowly relaxes under Sam's touch. "That rabbit food you're forcing into me causes serious bloating."  
  
Sam laughs lightly. "It's not from food, Dean. It's our baby."  
  
"Let me see," Dean scoffs, turning around to look in the mirror. Sam hovers behind him as he pulls up his shirt and looks closely at his reflection, turns to the side to study what had been pretty flat a month ago.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes as Dean takes in a big breath and tries to suck in his stomach. "I don't think that's gonna work, Dean."  
  
Dean exhales the breath. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he says. He pokes at his stomach with folded lips. "This thing is making me fat, Sammy."  
  
Sam snorts, wrapping his arms around Dean, watching their reflections. "Its gotta make room for itself," he says. He settles his hands over Dean's. "I think you look amazing."  
  
Dean lifts a pair of joined hands up, looking at the now stark color difference. "Maybe I shoulda spent some time in the sun today. I look downright sickly."  
  
Sam rubs his thumb along Dean's pale skin. Since they've stopped hunting, they don't go out much besides picking things up for Bobby, and Dean's skin has started to lose its tan. Sam can count every freckle on the bridge of his nose now.  
  
"You look fine. Better than fine," Sam starts, untangling his fingers from Dean's to slip his hand down Dean's stomach and into his jeans, "hot," he kisses Dean's neck, "sexy," he wraps his fingers around Dean's cock, "there's not a second that I don't want you."  
  
Dean laughs, stilted, his cock filling out in Sam's hand buried in his jeans. "Suh—sweet talker."  
  
"You know it."  
  
Sam lets Dean turn around, then claims Dean's lips, which part and let his tongue inside. Dean reaches up, pulls his hair, cups his face, pushing against him. Sam pushes Dean's button-down off his shoulders, letting it fall back into the sink, then pulls back to lift off his shirt too.  
  
As soon as Dean's head pops free he's drawing his shoulders together. Sam drops the shirt on the counter and kisses him hard, trying to make that tension leave. Dean pulls away after a few moments with a discontent noise, fingers fiddling with the fabric of Sam's shirt.  
  
Dean ducks his head. "Sammy," Dean whispers, looking up through his eyelashes.  
  
It physically pains Sam to see Dean looking so uncomfortable in his own skin. Sam smoothes his hands down Dean's sides. "Don't do that Dean. You look so beautiful, really. I promise. Would I lie?"  
  
"You just don't want to hurt my feelings."  
  
"What?" Sam laughs. He slides his hands up Dean's stomach, to his chest. Dean sucks in a breath and flinches back a little. "Dean..."  
  
He runs his thumbs over the dark pink nubs, presses into the soft flesh around them. Breasts won't grow there, not like a woman, but the pregnancy hormones filling Dean's body make his chest a little less than flat.  
  
"Sam," Dean complains, red-faced and arching a little backwards over the sink, trying to get away when there's no where to go.  
  
"Seriously?" Sam asks, spreading his palms to really press into the give of Dean's chest, like a cat kneading. "This is what's bothering you?"  
  
"Having a chest like a thirteen year old girl, yeah that kind of bothers me," Dean breathes out, but he stops trying to move away and leans forward again. He presses his own fingers into a part of his chest Sam's hands don't cover and makes a face.  
  
"It doesn't bother me," Sam says, kissing Dean under his jaw, licks the hollow between Dean's collar bones. He gets Dean's pretty perky nipples between his fingers and pinches lightly. Dean's hips jolt forward and Sam grins.  
  
"These are gonna feed my baby, afterall."  
  
Dean's face tightens but he says nothing to that, and Sam doesn't wait to give him a chance. He bends and takes Dean's left nipple between his lips.  
  
"Ah!" Dean's fingers scrabble over his shoulders, then slide into his hair and fist. Sam opens his mouth wider, sucking in the meager flesh around the nipple, and he grabs Dean's thighs and lifts him up on the counter. Dean's ass lands in the basin, but he moves onto the flat countertop by himself, back against the wall beside the mirror and calves curling around Sam's thighs.  
  
Sam moves to the other nipple, leaving the last one red and spit-shiny, and unbuckles Dean's belt—which has been clasped a couple of notches looser. He doesn't bother pulling it out of the loops, just grabs the waistband of the jeans and Dean's underwear and pulls them both down.  
  
He lets the nipple pop out of his mouth and kisses down the angle of Dean's torso, before he stands up straight to urge the jeans down Dean's legs and off.  
  
Sam just looks at Dean then; naked now except for the dark of the amulet around his neck, eyes half-lidded and plush lips parted, flushed down to his chest, one hand gripping the edge of the sink and the other around the edge of the counter, legs splayed open around Sam and cock drooling on the curve of his belly.  
  
"Dean," he breathes, reverent and quiet, stilled by the sight of his mate, filled up with his baby. Undeniably beautiful, and all Sam's. Looking at the swell of his belly's enough to make Sam feel like a few lights in his brain have gone dark, makes him feel loose in his skin.  
  
"You're makin' me nervous, Sammy," Dean jokes, and Sam realizes he's probably been staring a little too long. "Don't eat me. Well, do eat me, if it's the good kind."  
  
"Is that what you want?" Sam asks, voice rough, bending to kiss Dean's stomach, looking up his body to keep their eyes connected.  
  
Dean swallows, eyes dilated. His flush deepens in color.  
  
Sam chuckles. He strokes Dean's cock with one hand and turns his cheek into Dean's belly, listening to the sounds, to Dean's heart, strong and thumping. He turns his face back, licks at the taut skin, down until his tongue reaches into Dean's navel.  
  
Dean inhales sharply through his nose, hips darting up. A drop of pre-come leaks over Sam's thumbnail.  
  
Sam sinks onto his knees, takes a hold of Dean's thighs and pulls, so Dean's back slides down the wall and comes to rest flat on the counter, legs draped over Sam's shoulders, pulls a little further so Dean's ass clears it too. There's a slap as Dean grabs onto the sink, heels digging into Sam's back. "Sam!"  
  
"I got you," Sam assures him, hands coming up to grip his hips, shuffling forward. "'s'kay."  
  
Dean's breathing evens out as he realizes he's not gonna slip off the counter, and Sam presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh before just taking a big breath. All of Dean's scents—the thick vanilla, the tang of Omega pheromones, sweat and leather—seem to mainline from his nose to his cock, which is currently trying to push its way through the teeth of his zipper.  
  
A pleased rumble vibrates through Sam's chest, and he licks his lips, before moving down to where Dean's wet and twitching, slick smearing over the lower half of his face.  
  
He sets his lips against the wrinkled, hot skin, hears Dean make a small, fragile sound as he kisses Dean's hole, parts his lips to bathe his tongue over it.  
  
Dean's leg bends against his back, calf shaking. His hand comes down to grasp his cock and Sam growls, lifting his face away. "No touching."  
  
"I need—"  
  
"You don't," Sam says, and waits until Dean hesitantly takes his hand back to return to Dean's hole. As some kind of reward, he lets his tongue push through the ring of muscle, just the tip, but it's enough for Dean to gasp like he can't get enough air, rim clenching down, forcing Sam's tongue back out.  
  
"Relax, Dean," he mumbles, and tries again, pressing the soft wet of the muscle against Dean's entrance until it gives and swallows up his tongue.  
  
"Sammy," Dean moans, legs moving restlessly on Sam's shoulders. He clenches up again, but not too strongly this time, and Sam wiggles his tongue to loosen the hold, which makes Dean's next groan waver and break. Sam hears a scraping noise which must be Dean's nails raking over the counter.  
  
The skin under Sam's hands grows sweaty so he adjusts his hold on Dean's hips, starts thrusting his tongue in and out of Dean's hole, lips sealed around the rim, a dirty hot kiss.  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dean's chanting, thoughtless and high. One of his legs slips off Sam's shoulder and the heel of his foot bangs into the cabinet, the sound rattling through Sam's teeth, but he doesn't stop, just braces Dean tighter, goes at it more enthusiastically, determined to make Dean lose it.  
  
"Suh—Sam, Sam, please, please," Dean inquires frantically, squirms and chokes on his own breaths. His balls tighten where they're pushed up against Sam's nose, and no, Sam's not gonna touch him, and he's not gonna let Dean touch himself either, so when Dean's hands forfeit a grounding grip on the sink in favor of trying to reach down and grab his straining cock, Sam snaps Dean's wrists down on the counter edge, heels of his hands pushing into Dean's knuckles, and digs his tongue in deep.  
  
Dean cries out, squeezes achingly vise-tight around Sam's tongue, and seems to keep his precarious position in mind because he jolts back rather than forwards as he comes, head hitting the wall. His hands imprisoned under Sam's splay and jerk up, nails scratching into Sam's wrists.  
  
Coming untouched like this, his orgasm seems to last longer; when Sam pulls his tongue from Dean's sopping hole and looks up Dean's still shuddering, eyes rolled up and lids flickering like Sam's pulled and shorted out all his circuits, dick still spitting up his belly.  
  
Mouth drying out at the sight, Sam stands and lets go of Dean's hands to support his legs instead, then he bends and licks from the head of Dean's cock, up the splatter of white on Dean's stomach, cleaning up even while Dean's still making a mess.  
  
Dean's back eventually unarches, and his incoherent words turn into softly panting breaths. "God," he croaks, while Sam swipes the last of the come from his skin with a soft lick. "I hate when you do that."  
  
"Hah," Sam laughs, wiping Dean's slick from his chin and cheeks with two fingers and pushing them between Dean's lips. "That taste like a lie to you too?"  
  
"Li'l bit," Dean says around Sam's knuckles. His tongue darts between Sam's fingers, tickling the webbing, mouth pulling in to suck. Sam suddenly becomes very aware of his cock chafing on his jeans as he watches the stretch of Dean's plump lips around his digits. It's with slow reluctance he pulls them from the moist soft of Dean's mouth.  
  
Dean scoots up on the counter until he can sit up, then he kisses Sam, hands working on his belt buckle, slides it out of the loops and lets it clink on the floor.  
  
Dean pushes off the counter, and in the mirror Sam can see the red mark where the counter edge dug into his lower back, and he soothes that with his fingers.  
  
"Bed," Dean husks, all but pushing Sam out of the bathroom. Sam manages to flick the lightswitch just in time before there's carpet under his feet and Dean urging him to lie on the bed.  
  
Sam does so, and Dean knees up onto it, starts pulling Sam's jeans off his hips and down his legs.  
  
Sam gets a piece of inner cheek between his teeth and bites. Dean's moving fervently, but he's obviously tired, both from the orgasm and pregnancy. Dean shucks the jeans away and wraps a firm hand around his dick, obliterating most thoughts instantly, but Sam still manages to say, "Dean, you know, you don't have to—"  
  
"You want me to suck you off or not?" Dean interrupts, which yeah, takes care of any other protests. Sam can count how many blowjobs he's gotten from Dean over the years on one hand, and most of them were when Dean was drunk.  
  
So Sam nods, fisting his hands into the covers.  
  
Dean smirks, positioning himself between Sam's legs. The first touch of his teasing tongue makes Sam's toes curl and spread, makes sweat prick up on his neck and chest as Dean rubs the bottom swell of his lip over the frenulum, soft tongue gliding down the underside vein, fingers tight around the base.  
  
Dean licks his cock like a damn lollipop, smirk still curling up into his cheek. "Dean," Sam breathes, hips canting up, "come on."  
  
"Could you come from just this?" Dean wonders.  
  
That little _shit_. Sam glares at his Omega, whose eyes are smiling, lips dragging over Sam's cockhead. "If I just licked you like a damn popsicle?"  
  
"No." Sam wants in that mouth, needs to be where it's warm and soft and wet, needs to see those lips stretched wide around his dick. "Stop—stop messin' around Dean."  
  
Sam's pre-come shining on his lips, Dean circles the corona of Sam's cock with the tip of his tongue, making Sam's abdominal muscles contract and his breath hitch. Sam tries to poke past his lips to no avail, hisses air through his teeth in frustration.  
  
"You—you said sucking off not licking off, you know," Sam entreats.  
  
"Blow's a blow," Dean tells him. He slaps Sam's dick against the stubble of his cheek contemplatively and sighs. "You're lucky I'm wiped out, Sammy. If I wasn't I'd dedicate a whole night to tryin' to get you off just by lickin' you."  
  
"Maybe next time." Sam's hips hike up again, feet planting flat on the bed. "Fuck, _please_."  
  
Dean hums, tightening his fingers around the base. He puts the other on Sam' hip and swallows him down in a go.  
  
A sound rips itself from Sam's throat, neck arching back, tendons straining. Dean's so fucking great at this, able to just get him all the way in and down his throat, encases him in the slide of palette and tongue.  
  
Dean's breath hits his pubic hair as he pauses, then he pulls up. The air feels cool on the inches of cock that leave Dean's hot mouth, but Dean takes him back in just as quick.  
  
"Shit. Shit." Sam looks down to watch, eyelids flickering. The visual of Dean's thick lips wrapped around him, Dean's eyes locked onto his under dense lashes, is a treat for the senses. Sam thrusts up into his mouth and Dean lets him, easy as anything.  
  
The suction and slip-slide in and out is dizzying, makes Sam feel high and groundless. "Fuck, I love you," Sam laughs mindlessly. Trickles of sweat roll down his calves and bead on his chest.  
  
Dean makes an acknowledging noise around Sam's dick, which feels so fucking great Sam almost sobs at the vibration. He reaches down and runs his fingers through Dean's short, but soft, hair. He doesn't try controlling Dean's movement—Dean doesn't like that—but scrapes his nails over Dean's scalp, watches his cock disappear in Dean's mouth.  
  
"Jesus, you're so amazing. Fuck, just—everything," Sam pants. Syrupy pleasure washes over his whole body, balls tucking up. Dean rings the bottom of Sam's cock, fingertips pressing into the thickening flesh, coaxing his knot to pop.  
  
The irresistible need to rut comes along with it, and his upthrusts turn into undulations, cock bumping against Dean's teeth, and he chants, "Dean, Dean, Dean," hands falling off Dean's head to claw at the covers.  
  
Dean hums around his dick, almost sounding like he's laughing, and that _is it_. Sam comes choking on his own spit, exploding, electrocuted in the best way, lightshow behind his eyelids. When his back straightens out on the bed and the pleasure recedes enough to let a coherent thought through, he's trembling all over, his body and hair dripping with sweat.  
  
Dean pulls his lips off his cock, a driblet of come escaping the seal of his lips and rolling down his chin. Dean's pink tongue licks it at it, then he hooks two fingers under the bulb of Sam's knot and pulls up.  
  
Sam jumps with a harsh thick sound. " _Fuck_!" Sam shouts in surprise at the new influx of pleasure. A weak stream of come shoots out of his cock, landing on the underside of Dean's forearm.  
  
"Quiet Sammy," Dean says, voice guttural. "Don't want to wake Bobby up do you?"  
  
He keeps tugging on Sam's knot, uses the other hand to pump the rest of Sam's dick. Fuck, it's way _too much_. Sam wants to tell him to stop, but the word keeps slipping from his mind so he's uttering only the first consonants.  
  
Dean swipes his thumb over Sam's cockhead, more come blurting out in its wake. Sam's chest heaves, feeling like he's in serious danger of passing out. His vision brightens and sparkles.  
  
Dean seems to sense this because he unhooks his fingers and lets go of Sam's cock. Sam blearily watches him crawl up, and then Dean's kissing him, chest falling on his.  
  
Sam responds, arms that feel like they weigh a thousand pounds coming up around Dean's back. He tastes the salt in Dean's mouth from his own come and groans. He rolls Dean under him, turns the kiss rough.  
  
When he pulls back, Dean's looking up at him, lips swollen and red. Sam breathes out slow and faltering and cups Dean's cheek and tries to think of something to say.  
  
Dean raises waiting eyebrows. "You're about to get all gooey on me, huh?"  
  
"I would but I actually can't think of anything to say."  
  
"Mm-hm. Ultra-gooey," Dean nods. He pushes Sam off and starts pulling up the covers. "Let's just say I give the very best blowjobs."  
  
"The best," Sam agrees. Dean gets the comforter and top sheet over both of them, turns onto his side and pulls on Sam's arm, bringing him along his back.  
  
Sam scents the nape of his neck and kisses him there. His hand instinctively goes to Dean's belly, caressing the slight swell of it. There's a small catch in Dean's breathing that Sam wishes he hadn't heard.  
  
Neither of them talks about what they're going to do when the baby's born, not since the first time. Just a vague mention makes Dean clam up and get defensive, and Sam doesn't want to spoil his happiness by fighting with Dean.  
  
Only thing Sam knows is that it's their baby and he's not going to let anyone else be their kid's parents but himself and Dean.


	5. Part V

Among Bobby's grumps about them taking up "permanent residence," and not so vague references to things around the house that could use fixing, Sam and Dean's nomadic life takes a turn for the startlingly domestic. Sam comes to know the cashiers of gas n' sips and the baristas of coffee shops, and strangers become familiar faces.  
  
Dean fixes one of Bobby's broken TVs and that gets moved into the bedroom they've come to refer to as theirs. Sam buys a DVD player and all the western flicks Dean knows and a few he doesn't, Dean's favorite B-movies and some of the more existential films for himself. The endtables become littered with books and the miscellany of the day, and in the bathroom Sam and Dean's toiletries push and shove for space.  
  
It's great, steady and settled, and Sam knows it'll only get better when they get a house of their own.  
  
August turns into September, and by the time the days are short and cold in October, Dean's pervasive exhaustion has let up only for morning sickness to take its place. He's laid up in bed just as much, looking green around the gills and usually watching some kind of nature show that plays violin music Sam finds depressing but Dean claims is "as relaxing as a sixer."  
  
The clothes stealing starts when Dean's belly is big enough for all his shirts to ride up. Sam doesn't mind, even as it gets colder and he starts to need the hoodies Dean steals and then somehow misplaces or throws up on— _that happened once,_ once _, Sam_ —and even with the sourest expression on his face Dean's gorgeous, full up with Sam's baby and getting bigger everyday.  
  
"You're doing it again," Dean says, walking from the bathroom over to the bed. Sam's been listening to him retch the last fifteen minutes, woken up at first by Dean rolling out of bed and muttering _four am, right on time_.  
  
"What?" Sam asks.  
  
"Getting all gooey-eyed." Dean collapses onto the bed as much as a four months along Omega can collapse. "Seriously? Does me puking my guts out do something for you or something?"  
  
Sam huffs a laugh, "no." He inhales and licks his lips, head turned to stare at Dean. "I don't know. You're just... you're doing so great. I'm so proud of you."  
  
"It's not a—that bad," Dean concedes. "Even though I'm on the soup and crackers diet." He sits up to pull the covers over himself. They're thinner, since Dean says the last ones made him too hot. "Just two more months."  
  
It's probably closer to one month than two. Sam's calculated Dean should be due around Thanksgiving. "Yeah," Sam says, voice dull to his own ears. Afterall, Dean's set on giving up their baby, and Sam has no idea what he's gonna do. The due date fills him with trepidation where it should fill him with happiness, a time bomb ticking away gooey-eyed gazes and the feel of Dean's belly under his palm.  
  
Dean must hear his tone because he says, "Sam..."  
  
Sam throws an arm over his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it, Dean."  
  
Dean stays silent a few moments, then suddenly gasps loud enough for Sam to sit up and reach for him. "Dean!"  
  
Dean sits up too, wrapping an arm around his belly, eyes wide. Sam's hands flit over him, panic and icy dread pooling inside him. "Are you—it's too early—"  
  
Dean gives a breathy laugh. "Dude, just a kick. This kid's got a future as a soccer player. Nailed me in the kidney."  
  
Sam's hands fall away slowly. "A kick?"  
  
"Yeah. He's been moving around a lot lately."  
  
Sam's lips tighten even as relief makes him deflate. "And you didn't tell me."  
  
"I was—"  
  
Wait, did Dean just call their baby a _him_?  
  
"...then, you know, I wasn't sure if—"  
  
"No, you know what? It's okay," Sam interrupts, and Dean turns his head to look at him. "'s all right." He smiles encouragingly. "So, soccer player, huh?"  
  
"A little David Beckham," Dean says. The faintest of smiles twitches at his lips, but for Sam it's like sun breaking on the horizon.  
  
"And... him?"  
  
"Trust me, no girl could kick my bladder into next Sunday like this guy can."  
  
Sam raises an eyebrow. He's kind of been thinking of the baby as "she" in his head, even shuffled a few possible names. "Or maybe she just takes after her mommy."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
Sam looks over him, eyes catching on Dean's arm still wrapped around his stomach. "Is he still...?"  
  
Dean nods. "Going for my spleen now, I think."  
  
Slowly, breath stuck in his chest, Sam's hand slides off Dean's shoulder to rest on the swell of Dean's belly. Right away there's a thump against his palm, and his whole world seems to narrow and close in. Lips parted, he watches and feels as what must be a shoulder shifts and turns beneath his fingers.  
  
Both Dean and him exhale at the same time. "He rolled over, think he's settled in now," Dean says quietly. Sam looks at his face to find him wide-eyed and blinking.  
  
Sure enough, there's no more movement the next few minutes. Sam finally manages to get out a soft, "wow."  
  
"Yeah," Dean says. Sam fondly strokes over his belly, edging a thumb around his popped out navel. He presses a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth.  
  
They lay back down, Sam ushering the covers over them both. Dean yawns and curls up under Sam's chin, his stomach pressing into the flat of Sam's. "He'll start in again in a few hours," Dean says after another yawn. "Just in time for me to puke again of course."  
  
"I can't wait," Sam blurts out, and almost but not quite manages to shut himself up, "to see him." Wonders if they'll have Dean's hair or his, teal eyes or green, if there will be freckles dotted on a small nose and cheeks.  
  
Dean's still and silent, and Sam feels the tension like sandpaper over his skin. _Damn it_.  
  
He lets his eyes close and waits for the lull of sleep, but before he can get there he hears Dean clear his throat and shift against him. "Sam...?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"I... If..." Dean trails off, makes a frustrated noise. "Nevermind."  
  
"You can tell me tomorrow," Sam murmurs sleepily, goes under minutes later.  
  
Tomorrow, he won't remember to ask.  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
It's Dean that decides he wants to wear his own clothes, says the hoodies are too hot. They end up in an Old Navy, which thankfully has the male Omega maternity section separate from the female's. Sam thought it should've been obvious by the cut who it's made for, but then he sees the shirts for males and even he finds them distinctly feminine, the only real deviation from the females' being a little more fabric in the shoulders.  
  
Then again, most male Omegas tend towards the flamboyant.  
  
"I've entered _The Twilight Zone_ ," Dean says, picking up a top with actual sequins sparkling on the neckline, the rest of it baby pink. He holds it up to himself and folds in his lips.  
  
Sam laughs. "C'mon Dean, no way that's fitting you."  
  
"I might need a triple x," Dean says, putting the shirt back and looking over the others. "Seriously, who are these made for? Stick people? Sam, try and find something that's not, for the love of god, pink."  
  
Sam grins, showing Dean a white shirt with a rhinestone outline of a flower. "Rhinestones okay?"  
  
"Rhinestones not okay. And neither are," Dean scoffs at a particularly embroidered shirt, "ribbons, beads, or lace, _Christ_."  
  
In the end, they manage to find a few shirts that are more in the neutral spectrum and lack any gaudy decorations. The jeans are an easier animal—Dean just grabs a few pairs in dark and light washes, leaves Sam holding everything.  
  
There's another couple browsing around, an Omega man who looks about ready to pop and a Beta holding their other child. Sam peeks at their wedding rings and wonders what it'd be like to get married. Marriage's more of a Beta thing, kind of redundant for a mated Alpha and Omega, but Sam entertains the idea anyway. Of course, it wouldn't be a big thing like the other couple probably had, more shotgun than storybook.  
  
He watches the Omega catch Dean's eyes and smile softly. Dean spares him a look and a jut of his chin before he's putting the last shirt in the pile of clothes in Sam's arms and ushering him towards the checkout.  
  
"You should've talked to him," Sam says as he pushes the key into the Impala's ignition. "Don't you think you could use the advice?"  
  
"Thought that was your job," Dean says.  
  
"Yeah, but you could probably relate to him better."  
  
"I thought I was doin' fine, you said I was."  
  
"You are, it's not about that. I just mean that maybe you could've gotten some advice, like on giving birth. You've gotta be freaked out about that."  
  
"I am probably considerably less freaked out than you think I am," Dean says. He sounds strained, and Sam looks over to see him with a hand over his mouth. Dean fists a hand into Sam's shirt and tugs. "Pull over—'fore I ruin Baby's upholstery—"  
  
Thankfully there's an upcoming sideroad. Sam pulls into it and Dean's struggling out of his seat and out of the car before it can even come to a stop.  
Sam gets out himself when he sees Dean's shoulders finally straighten. Dean's leaning against the hood, breathing raggedly and eyes watering, spitting compulsively every few seconds.  
  
"Okay?" Sam asks him, grasping his forearm comfortingly.  
  
Dean nods and spits a last time before he wipes his mouth and clears his throat. "Yeah. You know Sammy, maybe I should go get checked out."  
  
Sam hopes Dean thinks nothing of his fingers tightening around his arm. "You hate doctors, Dean," Sam reminds him calmly. "I thought you said you weren't up for any poking or prodding."  
  
"I don't know. I don't think I should be pukin' this much, it was differ—it, ah, it's sucky."  
  
Sam stares at him, thinking. Doctors mean ultrasounds, ultrasounds mean the fact that Dean's further along than he thinks will be outed. It's only by a couple of weeks, but Dean's not dumb and Sam's already pulled the wool too tight. Dean'll know things don't add up.  
  
No, Dean won't be going.  
  
"—part of a lung this morning, damn kid's boxing my organs, and guess who's losin'?" Dean's saying when Sam tunes him in. "I puke up water, Sam. Something isn't right."  
  
Sam shifts on his feet. "It's from the changing hormones Dean; it'll pass. Try ginger ale."  
  
Dean's mouth tightens. "Like you know anything about being pregnant," he says lowly.  
  
"And you do?" Sam counters.  
  
Dean stares wordlessly at him. Then he cuts his eyes over Sam's shoulder and scuffs his shoe into the dirt. "Well you're not the one puking his guts out so..."  
  
"Look Dean, we go to the doctor's, he's gonna want to examine you, if you know what I mean."  
  
Dean grimaces.  
  
"Yeah, and there wouldn't be much he could do for you anyways. 'Do not take if you're pregnant or nursing'? Only on the label of every nausea medication ever."  
  
Dean tilts his head in acquiescence. "Yeah. I just wanna not be sick all the time, stuck in bed. But you're right."  
  
"You've been having more good days, it's probably just another stage," Sam says, then teases, "you look ready to pop soon anyway."  
  
Dean points his finger at him. "I don't appreciate it Sam." Dean turns the finger towards his belly, "it only looks like this because one of his parents is a yeti."  
  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
They have sex less, partly because of Dean's lower sex drive, but it's mostly Sam's fault, because no matter how many times Dean tells him "the head is not _right there_ , Sam, for Chrissakes," Sam still has invented horror stories in his mind of Dean going into labor while they're fucking, and—  
  
"Oh God, _stop_ ," Dean groans, bringing Sam back into the present. "You're gonna give me a coronary."  
  
"You can't even see me," Sam says into the back of Dean's neck, moving slow in and out of Dean's body. They're on their sides, which seems to be the only viable position with Dean's belly being so big. Sam had suggested riding last week, but that had been shut down so fast, and kind of violently, by Dean that Sam hadn't tried again.  
  
"I don't need to. I can hear you thinking. God, Sam, just fuck me and don't worry about the kid, okay? I'm sure he thinks he's just being rocked to sleep."  
  
Sam's snort is from equal parts humor and horror. "For me to keep fucking you, I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."  
  
Dean shifts his leg higher over Sam's hip, and grabs the hand that had been resting on it and places it on his belly. Sam feels their baby move under his touch, and is still as blown away by it as he was the first time. "See?" Dean asks, strained as Sam glides over his sweet spot. "See, he's fine in there."  
  
Sam chews his lip. "I read that sex could you put you in labor."  
  
"Good!" Dean flails his arms out. "I _want_ to go into labor! You think I want to keep weighing a million pounds? He's been hitching a ride in there long enough, it's time to get off this Dean-train."  
  
Dean keeps going on, but is effectively quelled when Sam reaches under his belly and wraps a hand around his cock and starts jerking it just the way Dean likes. Sam can hear Dean's pants, feels the way Dean presses back into him as much as possible, thigh muscles tight against Sam's.  
  
Sam puts his hand back on Dean's stomach, unable to keep his hand away from the baby underneath. "Dean?"  
  
"Wuh—what? Uh, fuck, why'd you stop with my dick, man, I said the kid's fine with everything—go _harder_ , Sam—"  
  
Sam doesn't know why he's about to bring it up now, but his baby's moving under his palm, moving with it as he runs it over Dean's stomach, and he loves him, her, too much to keep thinking Dean's still adamant about giving it up. "I still want to."  
  
"Wanna want?" Dean slurs. He tries to reach his cock but Sam's arm is in the way. "Come? Me too, if you'd just touch my dick a little—"  
  
Sam does, and Dean bucks forward with a gracious, soft sound. "I still want to keep him," Sam continues.  
  
Dean goes tense a second, but just as quickly relaxes. "How are you still thinking? My ass not good enough for you?" Dean rocks back into him demonstratively. "Just fuck me, Sam. Let _go_."  
  
Sam huffs impatiently. "I'm serious Dean, I need to know."  
  
"For the love of—know _what_?"  
  
"If you're on board."  
  
"Board for what? The _S.S. Baby_?"  
  
" _S.S. Dean and Sam's Baby_ ," Sam reminds him, and picks up the pace. Dean's only words for a few moments are "ugh"s and "fuck"s. The back of Dean's neck is sweaty, so Sam settles his lips in his hair instead, keeping up the tugging of Dean's cock.  
  
"I don't wanna talk about it right now," Dean finally gets out, breathy and urgent with his need to come. "We're fucking, for Chrissakes. Just— _ah_ —after. After, Sammy."  
  
After means only a minute for Dean, hissing air past his teeth as come paints Sam's hand and the underside of Dean's belly. After means a little longer for Sam, because after Dean has come Sam puts his hand back on Dean's belly to feel the baby, and it makes him reluctant all over again to knot. But Dean pushes hard back into him, reaches back to pull his hair, says _I swear to fucking god Sam_ , so Sam snarls into his hair as his knot plumps up and he comes, fingertips digging into Dean's belly.  
  
Dean sighs, leg slipping off Sam's hip. His hand falls on Sam's and the baby kicks both their hands hard. Sam muffles his chuckle into Dean's hair, "we made him mad."  
  
"Spoilsport," Dean admonishes softly. Dean wraps his shorter fingers around Sam's and clears his throat. "I don't know," he says quietly.  
  
Sam doesn't need to ask to know what he's talking about. He waits silently for Dean to talk.  
  
"Obviously, there's things I haven't told you," Dean continues. "I do have a reason for just wanting to give him away to someone else. But, you know, I don't wanna talk about it. Or even think about it, really."  
  
Sam sighs. "'s all right if you can't tell me, I guess. Just... don't let what happened in the past make you give up something good in the present, okay? This could be great for us."  
  
Dean laughs softly. "You and me with a kid... who woulda thought? Seems so strange, doesn't it?"  
  
"Not that strange," Sam says. "Didn't you ever imagine a life outside hunting?"  
  
"...maybe when I was a kid. Then it just became a pipe dream." Dean twists his neck to look at Sam. "But it looks like you got that figured out for both of us. I don't see how raising a kid'll be less stressful than hunting, though."  
  
"Pretty sure the pay-off'll be better."  
  
"You're probably right about that." Dean turns his head back.  
  
Sam reaches over him to turn off the lamp. In the dark, he wraps his arm across Dean's belly and tugs him close so there's not a centimeter of space between them, smile making his cheeks ache. It's not a yes exactly, but Dean sounds far more willing than he did at first. Sam's pretty sure he's starting to get attached to the life growing inside him.  
  
Dean settles into him like a puzzle piece, joined tight by Sam's knot. "Sammy?"  
  
Sam makes an acknowledging sound.  
  
"You ever think things happen for a reason sometimes? Like maybe it's not all just chaos and chance. Maybe some things are meant to happen."  
  
"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, I definitely think that."  
  
Their baby rolls against Sam's arm.  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
  
"Don't worry Bobby, we're not shackin' up here forever," Dean says when Bobby enters the kitchen, catching the exasperated look on his face.  
  
Dean's over by the stove, flipping steaks with one hand and popping grapes into his mouth with the other; they've been one of the staples in Dean's whatever-doesn't-make-me-puke diet. Sam's at the table, idly looking over a three-Sundays-ago newspaper and sipping a can of Canada Dry.  
  
"I ain't one to say no to good cookin', but you know we had leftovers right?" Bobby asks.  
  
"I tried to stop him," Sam supplies, leaning forward conspiratorially. "But he said all he wanted was a big juicy steak."  
  
"Doesn't meat usually make you puke?" Bobby asks Dean, taking a seat across from Sam.  
  
"Don't talk about pukin', I swear to god," Dean strains out, putting the back of his hand to his mouth. "'m trying to have a good day."  
  
Dean flips a steak over and seems to swallow back whatever real or imagined was pressing at his throat. He flips open the cupboards. "Bobby, where the hell you keep the seasoning? Narnia?"  
  
Bobby shrugs. "Got salt."  
  
Sam fights to not chuckle as Dean grumbles under his breath, slamming the cupboards shut. "There's some pepper here, Dean," Sam teases, picking up the shaker.  
  
"Yeah, don't you start," Dean warns. "Get over here and take this a second, would you?"  
  
Sam gets up, taking the spatula from Dean. "Back hurting?"  
  
Dean sits down in Sam's chair, exhaling loudly. "Not the only thing. I feel like I'm gonna explode."  
  
"Not in this kitchen you're not," Bobby grunts while Dean chuckles predictably at the newspaper, looking over the funnies Sam's always found to be too sophomoric.  
  
"When's the sucker coming?" Bobby asks.  
  
Dean and Sam give each other raised eyebrows. "December?" Dean hazards, looking at the ceiling as tries to do the mental calculation. "Or November..."  
  
"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah—wait—so... you could be due on Thanksgiving, Dean."  
  
Dean groans. "Turkey-baby."  
  
"Well wouldn't that be neat," Bobby says.  
  
"Oh no, that would suck. I'd be stuck eating leftovers," Dean laments.  
  
"You probably won't feel too much like eating, son," Bobby says to Dean. "It's gonna take a lot outta ya."  
  
Dean snorts. "I know it did last time."  
  
For a moment, before it sinks in, Sam flips over a steak, carefree and thinking about going ahead and plating one right now because he likes his steak rarer than Dean does.  
  
Then it hits him like a bullet to the brain and Sam's pretty sure he loses all control of his motor functions. His limp fingers drop the spatula, and it falls partly into the pan before tipping out and clattering onto the floor. Hot grease splatters on his bare feet.  
  
Dean jumps, knee knocking against the table leg. It's enough force to tip the glass pepper shaker off and it spills onto the floor.  
  
Sam looks over at him. Dean takes a sip of Sam's ginger ale and keeps his eyes forward.  
  
"Dean?" Sam asks, voice shaky. "Did you just—"  
  
"Is it still bad luck if it's pepper?" Dean wonders, looking down at the floor where pepper's spilled like scorch marks.  
  
Bobby gets up and Sam registers him setting a hand on his shoulder. "You better sit down Sam," Bobby says, "I got the steak."  
  
Sam doesn't even entertain the notion of sitting down. If he does, if he tries to confine himself that way to one space, he might just implode from it.  
Dean's already standing up anyway, hand pressed to the small of his back. "Sam—"  
  
Sam fumbles and latches onto his forearm, and pulls him away from the table and kitchen and into Bobby's library. Dean comes with him easy enough, saying _c'mon Sammy_ and _wait a second_.  
  
It's only Sam's hindbrain's mantric mutterings of _vulnerablevulnerablecareful_ that keep him from pushing Dean into the wall and getting in his face.  
  
In any case, he lets go of Dean and pushes his hands into his own hair. "What?" Is all that seems to want to pass his lips. "What the... _hell_ , Dean?"  
  
"I'm sorry Sam," Dean says. He doesn't look any better than Sam feels, standing there with eyes that blink too slow and his head slightly bowed. "Oh God, you weren't... I didn't want... my fucking _mouth_ —fuck."  
  
Sam half-expected him to deny what he said, so hearing the truth in his words just seems to compound everything. It's so fucking earth-shattering that Sam holds his head and hopes it doesn't explode. "So you've been pregnant before," he states. He has to keep moving so he paces a few steps right and left. His feet hurt. "You. Jesus Christ. Fuck, did you have a kid? Who the hell did you have a kid with? And when?"  
  
"I was gonna tell you," Dean murmurs, flat as old soda, now staring at the floor.  
  
Sam rips a hand from his hair to bang it on Bobby's desk. "Dean," he hisses sharply. And then he gets stuck. "Just. Fucking _goddammit_ Dean."  
  
Sam doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know where to start. He feels all of eight years old again, finding out that dad's never been a salesman and he's been lied to and betrayed and monsters are real.  
  
Dean spreads his arms out. "What do you want me to tell you, Sam? 'Cause there's a whole helluva lot I could tell you." Dean's voice wobbles, eyes greener the wetter they get. Sam's caught between feeling angry at him and wanting to grab him close.  
  
"How about how you couldn't just tell me this in the first place?" Sam finally asks. "How could you keep something like that from me? You have a kid out there?"  
  
"No!" Dean exclaims. "Only kid I have is yours, I swear to god. Before, there was. I." Dean shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He covers his eyes with a hand and his mouth grimaces. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, watery. "There's. There's no other kid, okay?"  
  
"How can—"  
  
Dean holds up his other hand. "Not right now. God, just not right now." Dean's hand falls, and he takes a big enough breath his chest heaves. "I'm gonna go get the steaks before Bobby burns 'em."  
  
Sam's sorely tempted to grab his arm, to rip out his Alpha Voice and make Dean tell him, but he doesn't like the look in Dean's eyes. A faraway, pained look, and Sam knows he's finally broached upon the real, rotten core of all this.  
  
  


  
\----------------------------

  
  
  
  
Sam wakes up to Dean pushing at him. "Get me some ginger ale," Dean's saying, sounding moments away from puking.  
  
"'Kay." Sam rolls out of the warm bed, stumbles over a book lying on the floor. Body and mind still more asleep than awake, he ambles out of their bedroom and almost misses more than one step on the stairs.  
  
"What're you doin' up Sam?" Bobby asks from his desk, which is the only thing illuminated at this time of night.  
  
"Dean," is all Sam says, grimacing when he opens the fridge and light pours into the dark kitchen, knifes into his eyes. He squints enough to tell the difference between a sixer of beer and a sixer of ginger ale, and grabs the latter.  
  
"You tell that boy to not drink all that at once or he's gonna be sick anyway," Bobby advises as Sam heads back upstairs. "And tell him to stop sendin' you down here dead on your feet when he can manage to waddle himself."  
  
Sam doesn't think that'd go over well with Dean but, "will do," he says, trying not to trip up the stairs.  
  
Dean's sitting up in bed when Sam comes back into the room, wan-faced with an arm around his stomach.  
  
"Your gin and tonic," Sam says, handing him the six-pack.  
  
Dean takes it. "Thanks Sammy."  
  
"Sure thing." Sam collapses back into bed, on top of the covers, listens to the _snickpopsnick_ of Dean opening a can. Dean's quiet enough as he downs the ginger ale, but Sam finds himself unable to get anywhere near sleep. He turns his head and studies his mate, eyes drawn like a moth to flame to his swollen belly. There's absolute peace in the curve of it, in the pale of Dean's fingers curled gently on it. "You're so beautiful," he says quietly.  
  
Dean cuts his eyes down to him, then looks away. "Tch, yeah right. I look like death warmed over."  
  
"No you don't," Sam says. He turns himself around so he can lay his head across Dean's thighs. His knees hang off the bed, but that's all right because Dean takes his hand off his stomach and pushes it into Sam's hair instead. Sam sighs, eyes closing. He expects a kick from the baby but he's quiet within Dean's belly, only sound is Dean swallowing more ginger ale.  
  
"Oh, I think _Omega Baby Story_ is on," Dean suddenly exclaims, which makes Sam peer up at him.  
  
"Since when did you like that show?"  
  
"Since when it was none of your business." Dean grabs the remote off the nightstand and there's the staticky-sound of the TV turning on before the roar of gunfire and shouts. Dean quickly flips it to the right channel, and Sam turns his head to watch as the intro jingle of the show starts.  
  
Sam's seen the episode before, but he keeps quiet about that. It's a normal, drama-free episode, mainly because it's the couple's third baby so the Omega in question is prepared. Dean throws in comments every now and again, and Sam's reminded that the baby in Dean's belly is his second.  
  
Sam still doesn't know what happened to the first one. He's tried to bring it up again but every time Dean gets a pained, tight look on his face. Sam's surmised something must've happened to the baby, and if that's the case, he doesn't really want to know either.  
  
The Omega's labor at the hospital is very relaxed. He gets up from the bed and goes into a hot water bath when he's having a contraction, then heads back to his bed, and gives up hardly a cry when it comes time to start pushing.  
  
"What a trooper," Dean says when it's all over and the Omega's holding his wailing baby.  
  
Sam's eyes flick around the TV, hesitating a moment. "What was it like?" he asks finally.  
  
Dean doesn't ask for clarification. He does turn the TV down decidedly, which means he must want to talk. Dean puts his hand back in Sam's hair and says, "kinda pain you wouldn't believe. Worst than getting shot. No painkillers. Felt like I was getting ripped apart. Dad had to put his wallet in my mouth so I didn't bite through my tongue."  
  
Sam blinks several times. "Dad was there?"  
  
"Sure," Dean says. "You've probably figured out you were at Stanford then. It was just me and Dad, and I couldn't hide anything from him, didn't even try to."  
  
Sam bites the bullet. "...How'd you get pregnant in the first place?"  
  
Dean snorts. "Got with a hunter at the Roadhouse, one night kinda deal. We were both drunk as skunks, and I was lazy with the pills back then because me and Dad were so busy, you know... And yeah, one thing led to another. Dad was the one who broke the news to me. You can picture both our faces..."  
  
Sam looks back at the TV, where the couple is introducing the newest addition to the family to their other kids, hears Dean open up another can of ginger ale and take a sip. "It wasn't like we are now. Dad and I kept on hunting, but he usually passed me the McJobs." Dean shrugs. "Nothin' really changed. Dad never even brought up my _condition_ , kept his head buried in the sand I s'pose. I guess that was for the best. But really, it was the elephant in the room all the time."  
  
Sam can picture that; Dean and John cleaning their guns at a small motel table, John's eyes carefully cut away from the stretch of Dean's shirt over his belly, because Dean wouldn't have maternity clothes like he does now. Or even Sam's hoodies to borrow.  
  
Sam lets air hiss out through his teeth, resentment he thought burnt along with his father broiling up again.  
  
"I was ashamed, Sammy. About everything. Didn't even get the guy who knocked me up's name, and I was pregnant and mateless, got hounded everywhere I went. God, what people can say in a _look_."  
  
Sam turns his head to watch Dean shaking his, eyes far away, bright with the reflection of the TV screen.  
  
"I'm sorry Dean," Sam says softly. "You should've reached out to me."  
  
"No. No, you had your college-thing going on. I didn't want to make my problem your problem. I just needed to grin and bear it, lie in the bed I made."  
  
"Dean—"  
  
Dean cuts off Sam's protests when he continues, "but the months went by quick. I didn't get as huge as I am now, which I guess is a plus. Certainly didn't puke as much. And, kinda before I knew it, she decided she wanted out."  
  
Dean takes a ragged breath, eyes looking through the television, where the Alpha parent is putting the baby in her crib.  
  
"Whole lotta pain. Some crappy motel room, Dad was half-drunk and looking like he didn't even want to be near me, people in the other rooms calling the front office because I was screaming and waking them up. Short-lived slice of hell though; I had her before the ambulance came. She wanted _out_."  
  
Sam nods slightly, staying quiet and trying to digest all the new information, heart panging in sympathy for the agony Dean obviously went through.  
  
"And then," Dean's voice drops, cracking, "I was holding her, and she was—she looked just like me—and she was wailing away, angry as hell, waving her arms around, covered in blood, and just—just _gorgeous_ , Sammy, like nothing else."  
  
Dean quiets. His hand has stopped running through Sam's hair and instead now fiddles with the strands, knuckles brushing Sam's ear.  
  
The episode goes into a commercial break. In the middle of a slow-motion ad about wine Dean clears his throat. "I named her Abigail."  
  
Sam smiles gently. "Pretty," he says. He's probably a little biased because it's been one of the names that's crossed his mind for their baby.  
  
"And she changed my life. I basically forced Dad to rent out a real house, but he warmed up to her quick. Said she was a "real Winchester". I stopped hunting so I could stay in that house with her; she had her own room, a crib, the whole nine. She became my whole life, but it wasn't strange, you know? I felt happy. She made me happy. It's—it's hard to explain how much I..."  
  
"I get it Dean," Sam says as Dean's voice chokes up. "She was your baby." Sam sits up, tugging Dean close and wrapping him in his arms and rocking him slightly. Dean's breathing hard and fast through his nose, not moving except in the trembles of his shoulders. "'s okay Dean," Sam hushes, squeezing him tighter. "You're okay."  
  
Dean shakes all the harder. A broken-off sob escapes his lips, splintering in Sam's ears. "She was my baby," Dean gasps painfully, "she was my baby and she was taken away from me."  
  
Sam's heart plummets somewhere down into the floorboards. Dean clutches at him tightly, nails digging into his upper arms. "Went into her bedroom one day, Wednesday, a Wednesday, and she was—she was—her lips were blue, and I picked her up, and I knew. Knew she was... she was stiff. She was so _stiff_. And I screamed for Dad, and god Sam, he tried everything. Everything, but she was already... A—already..."  
  
Dean ducks his face into Sam's neck and something like a scream is muffled into his skin, harsh with rage and high with devastation. The sound is like an icepick to Sam's core, makes him stutter a breath and blink hot tears out of his eyes. Dean's chest starts rapidly rising against his, and coupled with the harsh pulls of air against Sam's neck, Sam realizes Dean's hyperventilating. He pulls back and grabs Dean's wet face. "C'mon Dean, you gotta calm down, okay? Stop breathing so fast."  
  
"She was—three months—old," Dean wheezes between desperate gulps of air, fingers scrabbling over Sam. Sam grabs his hands and holds them against his own chest, trying to keep himself together for Dean because he's never seen his brother so upset, and it's scary. It's scary.  
  
"Dean, baby, come on. Slow down. It's okay, I'm here, you're safe." He lowers one of Dean's hands to the swell of his belly, which Dean immediately clutches at. "See Dean? There's another baby, we're having a baby, and all this stress isn't good for him. 's not good for you."  
  
Dean nods rapidly, wrist turning in Sam's fingers. Sam holds Dean's hand in the center of his chest, and takes a deep, slow breath. "Feel that? That's how you gotta breathe, deep breaths. Try to do one with me."  
  
Sam takes a deep breath again, and Dean's hitches and becomes less urgent as he tries to slow it down to match Sam's. It takes quite a few deep breaths from Sam until Dean's breathing with him, panic leaving his face, but it happens.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"Sammy," Dean says, eyes raising up. "Sam."  
  
Sam relaxes, letting Dean's hands go to stroke reassuringly over his arms and belly. "You're okay."  
  
Dean shakes his head, tears dripping off his chin. "'m not. 's been six years, and right now it feels worse than ever."  
  
"Oh Dean."  
  
"Was my fault. I don't know what I did, but I did something wrong, and she paid for it, and that's on me. It'll always be on me, no matter what, and—"  
  
"Dean, no," Sam rasps, "no, no. What happened, there isn't anybody to blame. Sometimes senseless shit like that happens, and there's no rhyme or reason, and it's no ones' fault. Dean, you didn't do anything to cause that. You didn't. You _didn't_."  
  
"I couldn't even get my daughter past her first birthday," Dean says, eyes fastened to his stomach. "'member what Dad used to say? Only an idiot makes the same mistake twice."  
  
Even as his face is crumbled, Dean roughly wipes at his eyes and nose with his sleeve, keeping his gaze locked away from Sam's.  
  
Sam grabs the six pack of ginger ale and twists a third one out of the plastic, pops it open and hands it to Dean.  
  
"Thanks." Dean sniffs loudly, then sips at the drink.  
  
"You can't think like that Dean," Sam says after a few minutes of silence. Dean just keeps on staring ahead. Sam sighs, clears his throat. "Was there an autopsy?"  
  
That makes Dean squeeze his eyes shut, although he says, "Yeah," quietly.  
  
"And?"  
  
"Nothing weird. All they could tell me was it'd been a normal case of sudden infant death. It—that doesn't make any sense. Nothing just _dies_ like that. Especially a baby. I should've been watching her, I could've. I could've done something if I'd been in there."  
  
"No, Dean."  
  
Dean slumps back into the headboard. "Now I don't even have a damn picture. That's kind of the worst thing. I'd give just about anything to go back and take a bunch of pictures, because now it's like she never even existed."  
  
Dean finally looks at him, eyes tired and sad. "I wish you coulda seen her, Sammy. Even Dad was amazed at how much we looked alike. I should've called you and told you that you were an Uncle, at least." Dean rubs his eyes. "God, I don't know what to be most pissed at myself for."  
  
"Don't be for anything," Sam soothes. "You did nothing wrong, and I'm not holding anything against you. It was a horrible, unfair thing that happened."  
  
Sam grabs Dean's hand when it falls away from his face. "But you got through it Dean, you're so _strong_ , you know? I can't even start to imagine what you went through, and you've been carrying it around for years, not letting anyone in. I want to help as best as I can, so I'm gonna say again; I can't take you beating yourself up over it. _Please_ don't blame yourself."  
  
Dean nods slowly. He's obviously still not hearing Sam, which he expected, and it's tearing at Sam's heart. Sam breathes in and knees closer to Dean so he can put Dean's hand once again on his stomach, his own covering.  
  
Their baby kicks hard, which makes Dean's lips twitch automatically. "Our baby is gonna be fine, Dean. You're gonna take real good care of him, _just like you did Abigail_ , and he's gonna be talking, and walking, getting into things he shouldn't, he's gonna be perfect and all ours till he goes off to freakin' _college_."  
  
"I want that," Dean admits. "Don't think I don't want him Sammy, but I'm gonna be terrified everyday that I'll look in his crib and he'll be..."  
  
"He'll sleep with us," Sam insists. "We'll put his crib in here with us, and when we get our own place, same thing. Baby monitor, everything. But Dean, he'll be fine. He's got a double dose of Winchester genes."  
  
Dean gives him a fragile smile. His hand is moving under Sam's as he strokes his belly softly. "You know, we don't even have a crib," Dean says suddenly, looking up.  
  
Sam nods. "We got a lotta shopping to do. But we'll get everything. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Sam leans in, catching Dean's lips in a soft kiss that tastes like ginger ale. He rests his forehead on Dean's, eyes closed. "I just need you to be with me in this, a hundred percent. Can you?"  
  
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean whispers.  
  
Sam opens his eyes, leans away a little, his other hand coming to curve around Dean's stomach as well. "You're serious? We're gonna have this kid? Keep him? Be parents? You want to do that with me?"  
  
"Five for five," Dean grins. "I wanna try it again with you. S—"  
  
Sam cuts him off with an exuberant kiss, followed by another, and another. "Thank you, thank you, thank you Dean," Sam presses into Dean's lips, then across his cheeks and chin and forehead. He slides his cheek across Dean's from nose to ear then switches sides, putting happyscent all over Dean's skin, over the saline of dried tears.  
  
"I gotta take a leak," Dean huffs out just as Sam starts in marking Dean's neck.  
  
Sam greedily inhales Dean's natural scent in the hollow of his collarbones—strongly vanilla now because of their baby—then kisses Dean again before settling back. Dean throws down the last of his ginger ale and adds the can to the other two on the nightstand before he gets up.  
  
Sam watches him walk into the bathroom, wearing Sam's old sweatpants with Stanford written down the leg, and a dark blue maternity shirt, and in that moment Sam feels like he's fallen in love all over again, because his mate has been the strongest person Sam's known, since Sam was being carried around by him twenty years ago.  
  
While Dean's in the bathroom, Sam grabs the other half of the ginger ale six-pack and brings it downstairs. He puts it in the fridge and then heads into Bobby's study. Or floats in there, because he might as well be on cloud nine.  
  
"We're having a baby," Sam tells him. His cheeks ache from smiling.  
  
Bobby flicks his eyes up at Sam then back down to his work. "Is this news to you? What'd you think that was under Dean's shirt: a bowl of candy?"  
  
"I mean we're keeping it," Sam chuckles. He leans against the wall, smile fading as he thinks about what Dean said. "...Dean told me what happened."  
  
Bobby sighs. "Tell you the truth, never thought that boy'd open that can of worms again."  
  
"How much did you know?"  
  
"The whole shebang. Even got to meet the tike before your daddy and Dean got that house. Baby looked just like him, happy smile and all. 'Course, you know what happened in the end. Somethin' so horrible they can't even come up with a real name for it."  
  
Sam's thoughts drift to the daughter Dean had, and lost. For a moment, it's all to easy to picture Dean standing right where he is now, holding a dark blonde baby with green eyes and a gummy smile, Dean beaming as he showed Uncle Bobby his child, unknowing of what would happen only short months later.  
  
It makes Sam's heart furl.  
  
"Don't know how he got past it," Bobby's saying. "Think he soldiered on just for your daddy, and you. But if he's finally telling you about it, you might be able to convince him it wasn't his damn fault."  
  
"I hope so," Sam says softly. "But you know Dean..."  
  
"Don't we both," Bobby says. He puts his pen down and leans back in his chair, fixes Sam with a look. "Now, you're gonna be a father. You know anything about being a father?"  
  
"I'll figure it out," Sam says. Technically Bobby's never been a father either, but he's been one in the ways that count.  
  
"Takin' care of someone else is hard work. Just ask Dean. All those years changing your diapers and making you food. It's a job that gets no breaks and no days off, and no sleep while they're babies."  
  
Sam smiles again at the thought of their baby. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to it."  
  
"Sam, have you ever even changed _one_ diaper in your life?"  
  
Sam's smile falters a little. "No," he admits. "But, you know, that's gonna be a thing I'll have to learn."  
  
"Damn right you will."  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam turns to see Dean at the top of the stairs.  
  
"Just talkin' to Bobby," Sam tells him, then turns back to the man in question. "Like I said, I can't wait. I'll change every diaper, just as long as I get to see and hold him everyday."  
  
Bobby's expression softens. "I know, Sam."  
  
Sam tells him good night then heads back up to Dean, heart lifted at the sight of him. He wraps his arms around Dean and walks backwards into their bedroom.  
  
"What was that about you changin' all the diapers?" Dean asks when they're back in bed, Dean's head tucked under Sam's chin.  
  
Sam laughs. "You heard that?"  
  
"Sure did. And I'm taking you up on it."  
  
"I can live with that." Sam's hand finds the curve of Dean's belly.  
  
Dean's breathing settles after awhile, making Sam think he's asleep, but he clears his throat just when Sam's about to nod off as well.  
  
"Thanks Sammy," Dean says quietly. Sam thinks he doesn't need to say thanks for anything— _Sam_ should be the one saying thank you.  
  
But he doesn't want to invalidate Dean after he's laid himself so bare tonight. "Yeah," he says. "Whatever you want to talk about, whenever, I'm gonna be right here for you."  
  
Dean's head moves under Sam's chin as he nods. Their baby moves too.


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmm, in an effort to not retcon about omega biology, because i've found out the OP doesn't like anal birth (neither do i honestly) we're pretending omegas have two cervixes. one only opens up at the end of pregnancy, causing a sort of pseudo magical vageen to appear. you've probably seen something like that in other mpreg fics. i'm just piggybacking onto that idea. original, me? NEVER.

 

Halloween comes and goes—Bobby, tucked away as he is, still gets kids at the door in their Ghostface and Tinker Bell costumes. Dean parts with his secret stash of sweets, shoving away Sam's attempts to sneak apples into the kids' little plastic pumpkin baskets. The older kids ask when Dean's due, the younger kids just kind of stare.  
  
Sam stares too, most of the time. At the rounded curve of his brother's mid-section, the fullness of it and how it's perfectly shown off by maternity shirts, or Dean's hands when he cradles it (more often now, always makes Sam's spit dry up) and Sam's looking more at his mate's belly than his face these days, struck by the knowledge that he did _that_ , blown away when he thinks about their little baby tucked inside Dean. He touches that taut skin as much as possible, gliding his hands over the swell, addicted to how their baby kicks at his palms and rolls beneath his fingers, how their baby will shift whenever Sam talks, turning towards his voice.  
  
Dean grumbles about Sam's constant handsy-ness, but he does smile softly when Sam lines his belly with kisses, muttering to the baby about how much he already loves her—because it's a girl, Sam's sure.  
  
In November Dean's morning, afternoon and evening sickness abates, and he's energetic; wakes up before Sam most mornings, helps Bobby on the phones, flits around the house like an agitated bee, cooks more things than they can stuff into the fridge, cherry pie this, cherry pie that, and Dean even finds a recipe online and gets ingredients, makes one himself. The first one's just really crust and congealed cherries, but Dean's second attempt is the best pie Sam's ever had.  
  
But Dean's restless, that's what he is. Sam presumes it's because he's so close to labor, and Google thinks the same.  
  
When they get the crib, Dean assembles it completely by himself, eyebrows pushed together in concentration, same expression he wears when he's in the Impala's guts. Sam watches with a little smile on his face, and a cock half-hard in his jeans because apparently Dean doing things with his hands has crossed too many wires.  
  
They get a little bed, little sheets and blankets and a spaceship mobile and when it's done, when it's in their room like a promised dream, Sam pushes his mate against it and fucks him, pulling at his hips, his swollen chest and growling out how perfect Dean, everything, is.  
  
They get diapers and bottles, and a breast pump that Dean bitches about but accepts as necessary. Powders, lotions, onesies, toys and so many other little things that Dean says they need and Sam's overwhelmed but soft inside with happiness. He doesn't think their relationship has ever been better than it is now, doesn't think he's ever _loved_ Dean more; he looks at Dean and his chest aches with it.  
  
It's ninety-five percent perfect. The five percent that Sam struggles with is the trepidation, the pestering fear that Dean will find out and hate him. Keeps him awake some nights, and when he's asleep he's had more than one nightmare of Dean finding out about his fake birth control and pricked condoms, and he leaves Sam and Sam can't find him ever again. It's a dream, but the feelings are real—bone deep grief blankets him after Dean's gone, and there's no one to take revenge on but himself.  
  
Sam jolts awake with a gasp, sitting up in a cold sweat and touching over the side of his head. Nothing touches back but skin and hair and hard skull but it doesn't change the fact that he blew it apart moments ago in his sleep.  
  
He looks down at Dean curled up in a swarm of blankets beside him and his heart slows to a trot. "What was it 'bout this time?" Dean murmurs.  
  
Sam feels guilty for waking him up, runs a hand through his hair. He clears his throat and admits, "had a nightmare that you left me."  
  
Dean opens his eyes and turns his head a bit to peer up at Sam. "Why would you dream about that? You know that'd never happen right? Be like cuttin' off my own arm."  
  
Sam looks down at the bed, _if you only knew_ a whisper in his mind. He's still cold from the dream, like there's frost in his blood when he thinks about just how painful losing Dean could be to everything that he is.  
  
"Sam."  
  
Sam looks back to Dean, gives a quick smile. "Yeah," he whispers, and tips down to kiss Dean's eyebrow. "Go back to sleep huh? Baby might decide she wants out tomorrow."  
  
Dean closes his eyes and snuggles back into the pillow. "Mm, bet it's cozy in there. Layin' on my organs. Free food. Constant attention."  
  
Sam chuckles softly and gives Dean's belly a rub before he gets out of bed and heads into the bathroom, where he splashes palmfuls of hot water on his face until the chill's out of his blood. Then he clutches the sink and looks at his reflection, absurdly thinking guilt has crept into his mouth and eyes, that it's building and one day Dean'll look at him and see all of it.  
  
He blinks. He looks better, more impassive. His face betrays nothing. Dean'll have this baby and maybe, please God, a few more and they'll have their helping of apple pie life, and what Sam did will fade with the years coming, leave him with a clean conscience and nothing but pride in his heart.  
  


***

  
"You thought about names?" Dean asks on their way back from another, hopefully their last, store trip. Got Thanksgiving necessities and wrapped up the last few baby supplies, and now hopefully they're tucked in for the month.  
  
Sam taps his fingers on the wheel—Dean's feeling better, but Sam drives because last time Dean was behind the wheel the baby stamped on Dean's bladder and Dean almost swerved them into a semi—and replies, "I was thinking maybe... Katie? For a girl?"  
  
Dean "hmph"s. "Think of some boy names, 'cause it's gonna be a boy."  
  
"Dean junior."  
  
Dean clicks his tongue, "gotta hand it to ya Sam, it's original. I love it."  
  
Sam chuckles. "Sure you do. So what do you really want? John? Bobby? Bobby John?"  
  
Dean shakes his head. "Nah... how about Philo?"  
  
"We're not naming our son after _anyone_ in that damn movie, Dean."  
  
"Funsucker."  
  
Sam pulls into the scrap yard. Sun's going down early and has only left filaments of light streaked across the ground. Sam cuts the Impala's engine near the house. "How about Eli?"  
  
Dean looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "Eli? Kind of religious ain't it? Make us sound like a bunch of bible thumpers."  
  
Sam shrugs. "I like it."  
  
Dean sighs. "Yeah, 'course you do."  
  
They get the bags in, stuff the fridge and cupboards to the point where they're hard to close with ingredients.  
  
"Where's Bobby?" Sam asks after he puts the new shaker of pepper on the table.  
  
Dean jumps his eyebrows. "Probably out with his new lady friend."  
  
"Lady friend?"  
  
"Yep," Dean says, catching a box of stuffing when it tips out of the cupboard. Dean tucks it back inside then turns around. "Same one he had a little, heh, _fun_ with a few months ago."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Nope. They really hit it off apparently. You noticed the wedding bells hanging in his eyes recently? Oh, he's serious about her. Guess the clocks tick for Betas too."  
  
"I thought Bobby doesn't want kids," Sam says.  
  
Dean shrugs, comes closer to Sam. Sam leans back into the fridge and Dean rests his face on his shoulder, curve of his belly pressing gently into Sam's. "Guess bein' around you and me's got him a little restless," Dean murmurs while Sam strokes the back of his head—Dean's hair's got some length to it now, glides between Sam's fingers.  
  
Sam's other hand is on the small of his back, arm banded maybe too tight, until Dean reaches back for his wrist and brings it between them.  
  
"What're you doing," Sam says with a grin as Dean slides Sam's hand underneath the wide waistband of his maternity jeans. When his fingers encounter Dean's cock in the midst of fabric and heat he goes to wrap around it, but Dean grunts and pulls his wrist further, spreads his legs.  
  
"Angle's not good for..." Sam trails off, his palm against Dean's balls and his fingers free to quest behind them, and there's _something_ where the smooth dash of Dean's perineum should start. It's soft and damp, and when Sam presses with his fingertips the skin gives and Dean inhales sharply.  
  
"When'd this happen?" Sam asks softly, rotating his wrist so he can drag his thumb over the small slit.  
  
"Well it's been sore the past few days, and then this mornin', it just kinda split. So we got maybe two weeks tops."  
  
Dean shifts uncomfortably with Sam's prodding so Sam slides his hand out of Dean's jeans and up over his stomach, shirt rucking up over the swell.  
  
Sam kisses his temple. "Well, we're ready right? We got everything."  
  
Dean pulls away abruptly, backs off a step and leaves Sam staring at him. "What's wrong?"  
  
Dean clears his throat and gestures to Sam's shirt. "I'm gettin' you all wet."  
  
Sam looks at his chest and sees two small wet patches where Dean's chest was pressed to his. "It's okay," Sam chuckles, hauling Dean back in and shoving his nose into his neck, greedily inhaling Dean's scent; more milk than vanilla now that Dean's started lactating but God, the way Dean smells when he's full up with Sam's baby is incredible.  
  
"Bed?" Sam asks, already pulling at Dean's jacket in his haste to just rub himself all over Dean and immerse himself in the tangle of their mated scent.  
  
They make it to the couch at least.  
  
"Don't think Bobby'll be back for awhile," Dean rasps as Sam hovers over him, catches his lips in a tight kiss.  
  
Sam runs his hands down Dean's body, from his collarbones to the slight swell of his chest, over the sweet curve of his belly and back. He kisses Dean harder, clacking their teeth together, passionate and urgent and breathing hard through his nose.  
  
"Know I love you right?" Sam breathes when there's space between their lips, hands groping at Dean. He feels some strange sort of desperation and it makes his voice thin, "wouldn't ever leave you, no matter what."  
  
Dean blinks and breathes and licks his reddened lips. "Why you talkin' like that? Not like you're cashing in your chips tomorrow or something."  
  
Sam kisses him again, holding his face. "I just want you to know." He drops kisses down Dean's chin and neck, then hikes Dean's shirt up past his nipples, noses at the swollen flesh. He licks up the little stream of milk crawling from a dark bud, follows it to the source.  
  
Dean wraps his hands in Sam's hair and sighs in pleasure. "For the record," he says, smile in his voice, "I don't plan on walking out on you either."  
  
Sam shuts his burning eyes, cradles Dean's ribs and sucks until he chokes.  
  


***

  
Sam takes Thanksgiving as it is. He's got the man who's been a father to him, his mate, his child in his mate's belly and the promise of good, hot food. He's thankful.  
  
He makes a beer run in the middle of the day and picks up something more expensive than Bobby usually keeps around from the only store that's open, gets Dean more Canada Dry and a whole wall of sweets to go with it.  
  
When he gets back he almost expects to walk in on Dean in labor, but the other man's just lounging on the couch, deeply invested in another nature show. "No _Die Hard_ today?" Sam teases, dropping the bag full of candy beside his brother along with the six-pack of ginger ale.  
  
Dean tears into a Reese's immediately. "Baby kicks me on every explosion. Can't do it," he says around a mouthful of chocolate and peanut butter. He gestures at the TV, "there's us in another, furrier life Sammy."  
  
Sam looks at the show, which shows a wolf mounting another and thrusting enthusiastically along with monotonous narration. "Dean."  
  
Dean cracks up, and Sam sighs and leaves him to his Animal Planet special to meet Bobby in the kitchen. "Rite Aid's best," he says, lifting the box up. He puts it on the counter and takes two beers out, hands one to Bobby and clinks their bottles.  
  
"Sure it is," Bobby grumps, but he takes a swallow and doesn't seem to have a problem with it. Sam sips at his drink and turns his head so he can look in on Dean, and judging by the indulgent smirk on his face, the wolves are still going at it.  
  
"Boy looks ready to pop don't he?"  
  
"Sure does," Sam chuckles, but low, so Dean won't pick it up. "Any day now."  
  
"What's the plan there? Figure he doesn't want a hospital."  
  
Sam shakes his head. "No. Says he just wants some tarp on the floor and a lotta space."  
  
"Idjit."  
  
"We were thinking about doing something with hot water. It's supposed to help with pain."  
  
"Yeah well, save that for the upstairs bathroom. One down here's off-limits," Bobby says. "Believe it or not, I scrub down once in a while."  
  
Sam smiles fondly at him. "More often now huh?"  
  
Bobby narrows his eyes. "What're you pokin' at?"  
  
Sam's grin turns cheeky. He rests against the fridge and shrugs. "Heard that last week you got all spruced up and went out with... what's her name? Molly, Margaret...?"  
  
"It's none of your damn business that's what it is. I let you boys stay in my house, not in my personal life. Best remember that."  
  
"Fair enough," Sam says, and peeks inside the oven at the turkey. It's nearing golden brown, sitting in a pan of stuffing Sam had chopped onions for, and Dean had packed inside after the bird had gotten a good cleaning from Bobby. Potatoes got made last night along with hors d'oeuvres and yams, and now the only thing left to do is microwave some gravy and butter some rolls.  
  
"God," Sam says quietly. "Can't remember the last time we had a Thanksgiving." He shuts the oven to keep the heat in, looks back to Bobby.  
  
"Reckon Dean'll be... all right?" Bobby asks quietly.  
  
Sam's smile pulls in a little. "Yeah," he says after a moment, swallowing down hot guilt. "Our baby'll be good for him, help heal old wounds."  
  
"Or it could just rip the scabs off."  
  
"You're right, but I hope not. I keep thinking, after this one... I want more."  
  
"Don't tell Dean that," Bobby chuckles. "How many we talkin' here? A small army? Winchester regiment?"  
  
"I was thinkin' maybe like, six or so," Sam says in an undertone, then grins against the bottle on his next swallow. At Bobby's incredulous look Sam laughs, "don't worry, we won't stick 'em all with you."  
  
"Two Winchesters is more than enough, thanks. Can't believe there might be eight of you walkin' around one day. Whole world might implode."

  
***

  
Thanksgiving dinner is satisfying like it's never been before. Three of them sit at the table, spare some seconds to say they're thankful (for this and that and their lives, amen) before they tuck in. Dean chats with Bobby throughout, mostly about other hunters and hunts and that girl of yours, Bobby, she old as dirt and just as pretty? Bobby tells him where to shove it.  
  
Sam has seconds, Dean just has more turkey—"Always room for meat," Dean says with a smirk, which Sam only realizes is an innuendo when he's half-way through a piece of pumpkin pie and proceeds to choke on whipped cream and crust—and Bobby finishes off his first plate and half of his next, puts the remainder in the fridge and says pie'll have to wait till tomorrow.  
  
Dean devours half the pie by himself, till he's green around the gills and quits. When it's past the PM hours, Sam's drunk on turkey and Rite Aid's finest, and makes his way upstairs and into bed.  
  
Dean joins him an untold amount of time later, while Sam's drifting in and out. When Dean turns on the TV he makes a discontent sound, but Dean just puts it on another episode of his wolves and violins series.  
  
"We havin' another baby, Sam?" Dean teases, rubbing Sam's uncomfortably full stomach. "A food baby? We'll call him Mac, short for Macaroni."  
  
"Don't talk about food," Sam groans while Dean cracks up.  
  
"It's your fault. Your stomach's too used to that rabbit food. It's only meant to fit a few carrots and some lettuce. I don't know what you were thinking."  
  
"Stop, _please_ God." Sam bats at him, his shoulder and arm, but stops when his hand lands on the swell of Dean's belly and their baby thumps at his palm.  
  
Sam grins dopily, a wash of pure happiness flooding through him that's so strong his eyes sting under their lids. "Hi," he greets, moving his hand with the baby's movement. "Must be so squished in there with all the food your mom ate."  
  
Dean scoffs. "You kidding me? He's in turkey heaven right now. He's lovin' it."  
  
Sam opens his eyes and sits up with a huff of exertion—fuck, he did eat _way_ too much—and he kisses Dean softly. "I love you."  
  
"You are so drunk," Dean chuckles.  
  
"That just means I'm telling the truth." Sam kisses him again, sliding his hand under Dean's shirt and over the tightly drawn skin. "Dean..." He rests his forehead on Dean's cheek, sighing over his skin, baby kicking his fingers.  
  
"What, Sam?" Dean whispers.  
  
"I want... I want a family with you, and you know that, but I was just, I was just thinking... after this one, would you want more? Maybe a few?"  
  
"Jeez Sam, this one hasn't even been born yet and you're thinking about more?"  
  
"I know, it's crazy. But it's—I just want us to have a lot of kids. I don't know why, maybe it's just an Alpha thing, or what, but I want us to have a big family. I was thinking maybe, three boys, three girls—"  
  
"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean says, pulling away to look at him. "That's, that's _six kids_. You gotta be jokin' man. No one wants six kids."  
  
"I do," Sam says, sounding sullen even to his own ears. "I wanna make a lot of babies with you."  
  
Dean inhales, then exhales a moment later. "Sammy, let's just worry about this one okay? He's gonna be here soon. He's gonna need all our attention."  
  
"Yeah," Sam agrees, smiling a little, because Dean didn't say no. He lays down again and says, "c'mere," and Dean lays beside him. Sam kisses him several more times, before he rests his head on the pillow and drifts off with wolves and violins in the background and the crib a promise in the corner.  
  


***

 

It's the first cold days of December when Sam wakes up and hears loud breathing. "Dean?" He opens his eyes and searches for his brother, sees him sitting at the foot of the bed bent over his belly, and _knows_ , even as he crawls forward and asks urgently, "Dean?"  
  
Dean nods, eyes squeezed shut. "It's comin', oh it's comin' all right," he says in a strained voice. Sam rubs his back, so excited and nervous no words come for a few moments. When his eyes track around the room, he notices a large wet spot on the floor. "Your water broke already?"  
  
"Mm-hm. Woke up, thought it was just my stomach acting up... went to hit the head and just kinda sprung a leak on the way." Dean chuckles and shakes his head. "Nice day for a baby huh?"  
  
"As good as any," Sam grins, kisses Dean's temple and cheek, then sighs and tries to pick through his racing thoughts to find the ones about their plan. "Okay. Uh, I'm gonna go get the bath going, then I'll go down and tell Bobby I guess." Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder. "Be right back 'kay? Don't have her while I'm gone."  
  
"Think it's gonna be awhile anyway, contractions are far apart."  
  
Sam rubs his back some more, then stands and crosses into the bathroom. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before he goes to the tub and stops it up. The faucet's old; comes on with a roar.  
  
As water beats down into the tub Sam opens up the cupboards under the sink where they've stored everything they need for the birth. He puts a clamp and his sharpest knife on the counter, along with bundles of towels, lotions, and a large bowl, then hovers his hands over everything to make sure. Looks all in order, so he heads out of their room and down the stairs and nearly runs into Bobby coming out of his study. Bobby catches him around the shoulders and says, "what's got you in such a hurry son?"  
  
Sam needs another deep breath. He then smiles at Bobby. "It's happening." Says everything right there and rocks the older hunter back on his heels. "It's happening today, Bobby."  
  
Bobby blinks several times then furrows his brow. "What're you doin' down here then you idjit?"  
  
Sam falters, "I was just, I was just telling you—"  
  
"I don't know anything about delivering infants! Take your ass back upstairs; Dean needs ya. Christ, Sam, what the hell did ya want me to do about it?"  
  
"I just wanted you to know—"  
  
"The screamin' woulda told me as much. Now git!"  
  
Sam gits.  
  
Back in their room, Dean is starting to take off his clothes. Sam goes to check on him, but Dean bats him away. "Tub's overflowing."  
  
The tub's not overflowing. "'s not even halfway," Sam mutters under his breath when he's back in the bathroom. He puts his hand in the water to make sure it's suitably hot. "You want bubble bath?" Sam teases Dean when his brother comes up beside him.  
  
"Hilarious, Sammy." Dean stands close to him, dressed in only his shorts, as the tub fills. Sam kisses his hair, and rubs his hand over the hardened, full curve of Dean's belly. "Gonna miss this."  
  
Dean scoffs. "You're gonna miss me bein' big as a beachball?"  
  
Sam nods and Dean shakes his head in exasperation. When he feels another contraction, Sam cuts the water and helps him into the tub. Dean sinks in with a grateful sigh, stretches out and leans back.  
  
"Feel better?" Sam asks, crouching down.  
  
Dean gives a little nod. "Thanks." He strokes over his stomach, then clutches at it and sucks air through his teeth. When it's over, he and Sam share a look: only a matter of time now.  
  


***

  
Dean gets out of the tub several times, putting Sam's heart in his throat with the fear that he'll slip, so he wraps his arm around Dean until they're on carpet. He remembers the towels and spreads them over the linoleum while Dean walks around the room, restless as ever, unable to keep still. He circles around the crib, trailing a hand over the bars and looking in. When he feels a contraction coming on, Sam helps him back into the tub.  
  
It takes a while for the contractions to edge closer together, for Dean to really start breathing hard through them and squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. On one that seems particularly painful, Dean has his eyes pinned shut and slaps around for Sam's arm, squeezes it when he finds it. "Sam, I feel like I need to push."  
  
"Then push Dean," Sam answers calmly, nearly serene and Dean laughs and shakes his head when the contraction dies.  
  
"Who knew one day I'd hear you say _that_ ," Dean muses. He sits up straighter in the tub. "Lemme see how the next one feels."  
  
Sam stays quiet through the next one, gripping Dean's hand and hanging his head along with Dean. Water splashes over the tub's edge when Dean jerks suddenly, hand ripping out of Sam's clutch to curl tight against himself. Sam looks at his sweaty, reddening face. "Are you pushing?"  
  
Dean doesn't answer. Sam sighs and waits the contraction out with him. When it leaves Dean, his brother reaches for the support of Sam's shoulder. "I'm ready, help me get out, need to lie down—"  
  
"You can have her in the water, Dean, babies have—"  
  
Dean shakes his head, "nuh—no, gotta push, the floor'll be better, hurry up Sam—"  
  
"All right, all right." Sam stands and helps him out of the bathtub, about to walk him back into their room but Dean sags in his arms with a harsh gasp and Sam follows him down to the floor.  
  
"Help me, help me Sammy," Dean's saying, clutching at his shoulders.  
  
"I got you, what do you—"  
  
Dean moves out of his hold to lay back on the towels, bends his knees and starts trying to get off his soaked shorts.  
  
"Here," Sam says, moving between Dean's legs and tugging at the waistband. He peels the shorts down Dean's hips and legs and off his ankles and discards them in a wet heap. He glances between Dean's legs, almost expecting to see a head, but no, not yet. The slit underneath his balls is lined in red and parted a bit, but it's just a tiny little gash. Seems impossible that a baby's body could fit through it. Sam swallows and looks away, eyes finding Dean's.  
  
"How's it look?" Dean asks.  
  
"Pretty much like normal," Sam replies. "No head yet or anything. Dean... are you sure it's gonna be able to..."  
  
"'course it is. Done this before, remember? I know it doesn't seem like it, but it's made to stretch." Dean grunts with what must be another contraction coming on. "I'll be all right," he says tremulously, trying for a smile. "Second time's gotta be eas—easier than, _fuck_!" Dean cries out, thumping his head into the floor.  
  
"Breathe, Dean," Sam says, in as unobtrusive a voice as possible. But Dean keeps holding his breath, shakes his head. When the contraction's over, he says, "breathin' don't help much Sammy. Believe me."  
  
There's another contraction shortly after, and Sam wonders if he should start counting, the even 'one, two, three, four' he's heard on _Omega Baby Story_ , but that seems like it'd aggravate Dean and he knows his brother's pushing as long as the contractions last.  
  
"Great job Dean," he says instead when Dean settles down once more. "Lemme see—"  
  
His vision blacks at the corners when he looks between Dean's legs and sees their baby's head. "It's there Dean, it's almost out, it's—just, _oh God_ —"  
  
Dean squeezes his arm tight, nails sinking under his skin. "Don't you choke up on me, don't you fuckin' choke up on me Sammy," Dean says, voice shaking and waterclogged.  
  
Sam nods frantically, laughs and takes a deep breath. "All right, okay. Just keep pushing."  
  
"If you say that one more—"  
  
"I know, sorry. Sorry." Sam sniffs and rubs his hands soothingly over Dean's thighs. "He's almost there."  
  
Dean bears down once more, until he's blue in the face and red-eyed. The head comes out more, centimeters of vernix covered hair and a little bit of forehead. Sam's vision blurs but he sucks it up, and only lets out his breath when Dean does.  
  
"God," Dean moans, rolling his head on the floor. "Must have your giant caveman cranium." He chuckles wetly before he seizes with another contraction. "Oh fuck, fuckin' _burns_ —"  
  
Dean's thighs shake under Sam's hands, his whole body wobbling like he might break apart from it all. He pushes for only a few seconds but makes a lot of progress; Sam can now see angrily scrunched up eyes and little squiggles of eyebrows. "You're doing great Dean," Sam tells him when they're both breathing again. "I can see her face. Looks pissed."  
  
Dean laughs breathlessly, "bet she does, she's got your bitchface down pat, al—already, huh?"  
  
"Mm-hm," Sam hums, because if he tries words he knows he's gonna cry.  
  
Dean shouts on his next contraction, twisting. Sam grabs one of his hands and lets Dean squeeze his bones together for those excruciating seconds. Dean's scream dies off into a long, wounded animal groan that has tears brimming in Sam's eyes. He can't imagine.  
  
He wipes his face with his shirtsleeve and glances down again, where their baby stretches Dean impossibly wide and Dean's so damn strong, Sam leans over to kiss him because he has to.  
  
"How, how much?" Dean asks quietly.  
  
"Ears, nose and mouth," Sam answers, wiping Dean's sweaty cheeks. "Doin' amazing Dean. So fucking proud of you baby. Strongest man I know."  
  
Dean's smile turns into a grimace. Sam gives him space, goes back to looking between Dean's legs as his mate yells and strains to bring their baby into the world, a small circle of blood beneath him. Sam can see split skin, but knows that's normal from what he's researched, knows that Dean's body is fully capable of doing this for the second time.  
  
"Head's out." Sam squeezes tears out of his vision to see clearly.  
  
"Shoulders?" Dean pants. "Not yet?"  
  
Sam shakes his head.  
  
"Okay, I guess—I guess one more, ah, _ah_!"  
  
Dean screams on the next one. His feet slide on the floor, then kick uselessly at Sam. Sam holds his ankles and watches their baby's tiny shoulders slide out from Dean's body, the tops of short chubby arms.  
  
Dean thumps his head back to the floor and both their breaths gust out loudly. "Get him," Dean sobs out, which makes Sam look up.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get—get him, just pull him out, oh God hurry Sam, please hurry!"  
  
Sam looks at the infant still caught in Dean's body and can't swallow. His hands move towards the head in an aborted movement but freeze in the air. So delicate, so fragile, he doesn't want to hurt Dean—  
  
"Now Sam! _Now_!"  
  
"I—I can't—it's—Dean, I _can't_ —"  
  
With a determined grunt, Dean sits up. Sam can only sit back and watch as Dean's too strong, too large hands wrap under their baby's armpits and his lips might be moving to tell Dean to stop, but Dean, in the most astonishing sight Sam's ever seen, pulls and their baby slips out all at once with a rush of fluid.  
  
Sitting there with damp knees, Sam looks up at their child as he starts to wail.  
  


***

  
"Got Sam's eyes," Bobby comments, after a few long, silent minutes of the three of them just standing in the study, Eli nestled in Bobby's arms and swaddled securely in white, the small circle of his face the only skin visible.  
  
"I know," Sam says, chokes on the words. He rubs at his eyes for the hundredth time today. He thinks he's cried more the past two days than he has his whole life. "But I think he looks more like Dean. He has his eyebrows."  
  
Dean chuckles next to him, and it sounds a little wet.  
  
"Seems like he does," Bobby agrees. "Look at all that hair. Looks like he came out of a damn commercial."  
  
"It's those Sam genes," Dean says, and gently (so gently, Sam doesn't remember if he's ever seen that kind of carefulness from his brother) Dean takes Eli back into his arms, shushes him when he fusses a bit.  
  
Bobby watches them, then shares a look with Sam, tears in his eyes. Sam nods, gives a liquid laugh, elation warming him from the inside out. Feels almost surreal, like he's merely been placed in a dream.  
  
Dean glances up. "You know, Sam still can't hold him? Thinks Eli's gonna break or something."  
  
Bobby raises his eyebrows. "What?"  
  
Sam nervously wipes his palms on his jeans just thinking about it. "I know he's not gonna break, it's just. What if I do it wrong? What if I drop him? I've never held a baby before."  
  
"See," Dean mutters.  
  
"Well hell Sam, it ain't rocket science! Keep him close to the chest and support his noggin, 's all there is to it. You—" a burst of ringing phones cuts him off, been nearly off the hook all day. Bobby sighs and shakes his head. "Boy, go sit on the couch and let Dean set you straight, I got calls comin' in from every hunter in the country. You two off the map, lot more work for Agent Willis."  
  
Bobby goes off to the phones. Scratching the back of his neck, Sam turns to Dean, eyes catching on their baby held securely in Dean's arms. "Really not that hard," Dean says, "and he's all wrapped up, won't jump out of your arms or something."  
  
"I..." Sam trails off, eyes riveted on the small person he and Dean made. Tiny, delicate as the thinnest thread, precious as diamond. Sam feels too big for him, hands too unwieldy, too clumsy.  
  
Dean steps up to him. "It's really okay Sam," he says gently, as gently as he holds their son and with the same undercurrent of indomitable strength. Sam rests his forehead against Dean's, eyes cast down at their baby, who's looking up at them both and blinking a mile a minute. Sam lets his fingertips brush around Eli's full cheek, reveling in how warm and soft it is, how alive and real and impossible.  
  
"Let me sit down first," Sam breathes after a few still seconds.  
  
On the couch, Dean sits beside him, puts his legs in Sam's lap so he can face him. Sam hesitantly lifts his arms and Dean passes him Eli in little increments, until he's out of Dean's arms and into Sam's.  
  
"Support his head," Dean advises, which makes Sam bring in his other arm hastily, cradling Eli's white-hatted skull in his palm and trembling fingers.  
  
"Now breathe," Dean chuckles.  
  
Sam lets out the air he'd been holding. "Am I doing it right?"  
  
"Sure are; looks like he's gone to sleep. Think he gets tired from all the attention."  
  
"He's beautiful," Sam whispers, cheeks aching with his smile. His son is warm and soft in his arms, a little bundle of Sam and Dean. World shrinking love blooms further in his heart, and he inclines their baby to kiss his forehead, enjoying his and his mate's combined scent.  
  
Then he kisses Dean, rough with feeling that Sam tries to push into Dean with his lips. "Thank you so much," he rasps past his stopped up throat, his burgeoning heart.  
  


***

  
Dean is up most of the night. Eli doesn't cry unless he needs something, but Dean doesn't even let him start the smallest fuss before he's opening his shirt or telling Sam to change Eli's diaper (Dean took him up on it). Sam drifts in and out of sleep, and more times than not when he slits his eyes open Dean's by the crib, a sentinel in the blue morning light. Purple shadows grow under Dean's eyes with the weeks, sore red branches around his irises and dark dashes sink into his cheeks.  
  
"He's fine Dean," Sam whispers in the dark, arms wrapped around Dean from behind. It's cold now, snowing, and both of them are dressed in Sam's hoodies and sweats, and Eli's bedding is the warmest fleece. Sam kisses behind Dean's ear, looks over his shoulder to see in the crib. Eli's in a thick onesie, one chubby arm curled over his chest and in the quiet, Sam can hear his soft breaths.  
  
"I get worried," Dean says after a few minutes. He leans back into Sam. "Don't wanna sleep, 'cause what if I wake up and...?"  
  
"Baby," Sam sighs, "'s not good for you to stay up like this. You look like hell. God, when's the last time you slept?"  
  
Dean shifts his shoulders. "I got a nap in yesterday."  
  
"For how long? Five minutes?" Sam hustles him away from the crib and into bed, ignoring Dean's vague protests. He lays down with Dean in his arms, pulling him into his chest. "Stop it," Sam mutters; Dean's tense as a rock against him. "Settle down and get some sleep."  
  
Dean lays his head down and sighs the tension out of his body. Sam has his hand under his jacket, absently stroking his fingers over Dean's belly, nose in Dean's hair, eyes closed and ready to slip off into sleep again.  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nevermind. 's nothin'."  
  
Dean sleeps four hours. Sam wakes up with empty arms and sunlight in his eyes. He rolls onto his back and stretches out, a long groan leaving his lips.  
  
"Should I be jealous? Even I can't get you to make happy noises like that," Dean's voice says. Sam finds Dean sitting on the end of the bed, long plane of naked, freckled back awash in light. He's feeding their son; Sam can see how Dean's head is ducked to look down, can hear the soft suckles. Dean doesn't like to be bothered when he's nursing (or Sam to watch, though he's never said that out loud) but Sam moves forward anyway, drops a kiss on the top of Dean's spine and drapes over him to look down at Eli.  
  
"Sam."  
  
"You coulda got some more sleep Dean. I don't think he's really hungry."  
  
"If he wasn't hungry he wouldn't be drinking."  
  
Sam hums. Eli nurses for a few more minutes then unlatches with a squeaking hiccup that Sam thinks is the cutest thing he's ever heard. Dean wipes his milky mouth and chin with a hand towel as their baby slowly blinks up at their faces. Sam loves him more than he can contain inside him, from the top of Eli's curly head to the bottom of his tiny button-like toes.  
  
Sam touches the top of Dean's folded thigh and kisses under his ear, long and meaningfully. Dean shivers and swallows, gets up to put Eli back in his crib. Sam follows like a limpet attached to Dean's back, mouth sucking at his shoulders, pushing Dean into the crib as soon as the other man sets Eli down inside.  
  
Dean gave him this. This beautiful boy, their son with his eyes and Dean's hair. Sam's heart speeds behind his ribs, expanded and taut. He grinds against Dean's ass and wants badly to be inside him, to throw that love back into his skin and fill Dean up once more. Wants to lock himself inside Dean and start the growth of another baby in his belly.  
  
He moans into Dean's skin and hooks his thumbs into Dean's pants and starts bringing them down.  
  
Dean catches his wrists. "Can't, Sam."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Still too sore."  
  
Sam swallows thickly, moves his hands up to Dean's stomach, phantom sensation of flesh rounding out into his palms and beating with their baby's kicks.  
  


***

  
At the end of December, Sam and Dean buy a house.  
  
It's only a few miles from Bobby's scrap yard, tucked away in a bunch of trees and a little bit of street. A log house, belonged to a hunter named Mikaelson for a good thirty years until he gave up the ghost, then his wife put it up for sale. Sam rigs up a bank account and wires in the money in daily increments as to not draw too much attention. In a week, him and Dean are sitting on two hundred thousand dollars and the deed to the house.  
  
Bobby helps them with moving their stuff, Dean takes the crib apart, then rebuilds it in their new place within the same day. Bobby gives them their bedroom TV and a good portion of what's been stuffed into his cupboards and fridge, sheets and pillows and a helping of blankets, four cords of firewood that probably should last the winter, Bobby reckons.  
  
Bobby tells them to just come up if they need anything else, if he can help anything, and he wants them to bring Eli over at least weekly. Dean says, "sure, Bobby, will do," and clasps the older hunter in a long hug that leaves the two of them clearing their throats manfully and wiping their faces when they part.  
  
"Thanks for everything," Sam says when he hugs Bobby.  
  
"You're welcome, kid," Bobby grunts, then in a lower tone, "you take good care of Dean and Eli, and whatever other rugrats you two have. Holler if you need anything."  
  
"What if we need a babysitter?" Sam asks as he pulls back. "You up for it?"  
  
"Only if Maybell isn't over."  
  
"Maybell?"  
  
"His mate to be," Dean supplies.  
  
Sam raises his eyebrows at Bobby, who adjusts his hat and shifts on his feet. "Damn it boy, we don't call 'em that."  
  
"Wife to be?"  
  
"Now you're just patronizin'."  
  
"You uh," Dean chuckles softly, " _tie the knot_ with the old girl, let us know. Even shotgun weddings need witnesses."  
  
"Well we ain't plannin' on gettin' hitched anytime this year," Bobby grumps. "So don't be expecting to do any line dancin' any time soon."  
  
"I can live with that," Sam says.  
  
Bobby holds Eli for some minutes, musing on whether he'll be more like Sam or Dean when he grows up, if that curly hair'll fall straight, if he'll drive them all nuts one day and, "puberty, that's when they all go wrong," he says while flicking his eyes to Sam and sharing a reminiscent laugh with Dean that makes Sam glare at them both.  
  


***

  
Sam and Dean spend their first night on the floor, Eli's crib tucked into the corner of the living room with the fire at their hair, crickcrackling and snapping.  
  
"Awfully romantic," Dean comments, clinking his first beer in months with Sam's, then taking a long pull. They're sitting on a square of three blankets in front of the fireplace, pillows scattered around the edges of their "bed", bare, cold hardwood flooring around them. "In a Benjamin Button kinda way, when they had no furniture."  
  
"We'll get some. Call up Ikea tomorrow and order some cashmere couches and a California king. We still got over a hundred k to spend."  
  
"Don't talk like that. Makes me wanna go to Vegas and gamble it away."  
  
"Or invest it," Sam says sensibly, grinning at the incredulous look Dean sends him. "Stock market's hot right now."  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. "The Vegas stock market." He drinks some more before he sets his bottle down and smirks at Sam, inching his legs out wider and settling back on the flats of his palms. "You ever heard the superstitions about christening a new place?"  
  
Sam regards him, takes another sip of beer. "Salt line's are down, nothing's getting in here."  
  
Dean shifts forward, walking on his knees until he's up in Sam's face. "Wouldn't be so sure, Sammy." Dean kisses him, hardest kiss in weeks. Sam sets his bottle behind him and cradles Dean's face in his hands, pushing into the kiss with a hungry sound.  
  
When Dean moves closer, Sam rubs his palms down his flanks, his hips, then brings Dean into his lap. Warm, solid weight settles against him, smell of sweet Omega arousal in the air. Dean breaks the kiss to look over at the crib, but Sam brings his face back. "'s okay. He's _okay_ , Dean. He's perfect. Let me, God, please let me," Sam buries his face in Dean's neck, hands mapping his back, the curve of his ass. "Need you. Need to show you."  
  
Dean knocks his cheek into Sam's hair and sighs. "'m not... haven't been taking the pill."  
  
Sam looks at him, and though it burns his lips, Sam says, "I can pull out. Or, or, probably a condom in my duffel, I can go get one."  
  
Dean looks back at him, expression tilting between even and... sad? Sam swallows and frowns. "What's wrong?"  
  
Dean keeps the eye contact a bit longer, then sighs and looks away, teeth catching his lip.  
  
"What?" Sam asks again, soft as the fire's glow over their skin. "Dean?"  
  
Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I was hopin' that... maybe you'd want to uh, maybe you'd want." Dean stops and shakes his head with a frustrated sound. "I don't know why, but since Eli I've been feeling kinda like, I'm empty? Maybe it's 'cause of postpartum or something but I've been thinking that, you said that you wanted more kids, so—goddamit, Sam, I can't _do_ this."  
  
Dean moves to extract himself from Sam's lap but Sam bands his arms around him and keeps him right there. "Don't you dare," he whispers harshly. "Don't you dare fuckin' move."  
  
"I—"  
  
"Jesus—Christ—" Sam leans them down, puts Dean on the blankets and covers him, hot, consuming _hungerneed_ blooming with sharp petals. Sam's frantic hands snap Dean's shirt buttons and they _ping ping_ around them. Sam spreads his scent over Dean's cheeks and neck, growls and bites him before he can stop himself, just knows he wants his marks on Dean's skin and the taste of him in his mouth. Dean groans and bends his legs, thighs drawing in around Sam's body. "Sammy, c'mon—"  
  
"Mm, Dean. _Dean_." Sam rocks against him, half out of his fucking mind with bliss. "You want another baby. You wanna get big for me, fuck, _fuck_." He splits open Dean's shirt and shudders looking at Dean's chest—swollen for their baby, cherry drop nipples plump with milk. "Look at you."  
  
He straightens so he can yank Dean's jeans down. Soon as they're off Dean's ankles Dean spreads them, offering with his body and his face and Sam feels almost strangled by it, by _this_. "Mate," he says reverently, holding Dean by his thighs and sliding him closer, bunching the blankets. Sam tears off his own shirt, unzips and threads his cock through the gape, then falls over Dean and kisses him; his cheeks, chin and lips, which he parts with his tongue. Dean grunts and grabs at his hair, pulling him down.  
  
Dean's legs climb up his back and fold around his ribs. "Gonna get me full again, Sam?" he rasps when Sam's breathing on his lips more than anything, concentrating on lining up.  
  
"Fuck," Sam chokes, voice like glass exploding from heat. His dick slides over Dean's cleft, a valley of slippery warmth. Years of fucking Dean helps him know exactly where Dean's throbbing and hungry, and when the head of his cock finds that dime of roughness Sam hikes his hips back and starts pushing in.  
  
Dean hisses, toes spreading. He makes that sound, the wounded breath that always accompanies Sam's entry, then grabs at Sam's shoulders and breathes, "oh, go slow Sam, still a little sore. _Ah_."  
  
"Sh," Sam shushes, and though he's falling apart with instinctive urges, shaking with restraint, he fills Dean as slow as he can, Dean's body enveloping him as perfect as it always has. He props himself on his elbows and watches Dean's face, how his mate's eyelids flicker and the flush under his skin seems to creep higher with every inch of Sam's cock tucked within him.  
  
When Sam's in, Dean breathes out and his lips twitch in a little, almost shy smile. Sam aches deep, seeing that. Down to the pores in his bones and the years they've spent together, the love they've etched with dull tools but sturdy fingers.  
  
Dean holds him tight with his legs, around his ribs, his heart. "I want everything with you," Sam says, "I want to fill this house with our kids and watch 'em grow. Wanna love you the rest of my life, until I'm old and you're old. Till the day we die."  
  
Dean looks between his eyes and swallows tightly. He doesn't say anything but he keeps looking up at him as Sam starts rocking in the barest movements of his hips. He's close to tying, already, already thrown into and awash in pleasure. Dean's legs keep them held tightly together, more one person than two.  
  
Sam moves in him rhythmically, but slowly, a wave lapping over sand. When he can't bear it anymore, when he has to grind and jerk and spread Dean's clutching body around his knot, he sobs, "Dean," and "I love you," which is insignificant to what he really feels, the explosion of it inside, the miles high, sky piercing sculpture of what Dean means to his inner city.  
  
"No matter what, _no matter what_ ," Sam insists when they're just breathing, when sleep is waiting and over the cliff is the plummet to Sam's nightmares. The ones where Dean is lost irrevocably to him after the truth has shown its teeth.  
  
Dean blinks in sleepy acknowledgement. He says, "okay Sammy," and that will have to be enough of a guarantee.


End file.
